Shattered Core Syndrome
by Blood Jacket
Summary: In the summer before his fifth year, Harry aquires a condition that is killing him, cutting his life span down to mere weeks. With his clock ticking, he must find a way to end Voldemorts life, before time runs out for him first.
1. Prologue: Strange Occurences

Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

Prologue: Strange Occurrences

Dumbledore sat at his desk, puzzling over his latest problem(one of the many threatening to overwhelm him) in the form of a letter from Harry. He sighed greatly. It had been almost two months since the end of Harry's fourth term at Hogwarts, and the events of the previous year were weighing heavily upon his mind, showing the almost two centuries of life in his visage when a mirror was needed for his brief, and infrequent, bouts of narcissism. Harry's fourth year had been a disaster. That statement could easily and accurately describe the unrepentant hell that was the tri-wizard tournament as a whole, from the beginning to it's unexpected and heart wrenching conclusion.

Harry, from the start, had to endure the alienation of almost the entire school, with the exception of his good, and amazingly loyal friend, Hermione Granger. He endured the dirty, hate-filled looks, scathingly harsh whispered words behind his back, and loud denouncements of his character and integrity to his face, only to then have them do an about face and have the same students praise him, giving him kind smiles, hand shakes and accolades on his skill and tenacity in the face of adversity, seemingly forgetting their previous stance on his participation in the tournament against Mr. Diggory, of whom represented the same school.

None of this, though, affected him in anything but a truly superficial way, or so the boy had told him, with the known exception of the turned-back of one Ronald Weasley. No, the true tests had, in fact, been the tasks themselves. And, as the year progressed, it seemed as though Harry knew nothing but pain.

From the dragon to the Black Lake, and then to the hedge maze, Harry Potter did nothing if not suffer. Pain, whether physical or emotional, was a constant companion, and seemed to cloak the poor boy like a shadow in a dark room. It followed him, drank from his happiness like a vampire, and fed eagerly on his feelings of betrayal and rage at an unfair world; a world he was feeling less and less that he belonged to.

To his credit, Harry was, if nothing else, a good person, his actions in the latter two trials of the tournament showed as such. In the second round, in the Black Lake, he went against the rule of the mer-people and rescued both his intended target, one Ronald Weasley, and also fellow contestant Fleur Delacour's most beloved and cherished, her sister Gabrielle.

In the third and final task, Harry, as a show of good sportsmanship, shared the Cup with Mr. Diggory, failing to realize, through no fault of his own mind you, that the Cup had been turned into a portkey, whisking the two boys into a trap resulting in the death of Mr. Diggory at the hands of Wormtail(whose real name was Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed his parents, and all but killed them), and a grievously injured Harry Potter.

And then, as if to put icing on the cake, he was forced to duel his most hated foe, the reincarnated form of Lord Voldemort. After escaping with the body of Cedric Diggory, he was then taken by the DADA professor, one Alastor Moody, who Dumbledore would soon find out was in actuality Bartemius, or rather Barty, Crouch Jr., a man who was believed to be dead in Azkaban. After a short scuffle, Harry was saved, and the real Moody found in a magical trunk. The actions of the fake Moody(Crouch Jr.) resulted in his capture and subsequent demise at the hands of a dementor, by receiving The Kiss.

After the term ended, Albus Dumbledore had come to the conclusion that Harry might need some time to grieve, and all but ordered the Weasley's and Ms. Granger from contacting him, stating that he must be alone. The Weasley family accepted it immediately, while Ms. Granger took considerable time to finally acquiesce to his decree, albeit grudgingly, and with much complaint. The straw that had broken the camel's back had been the discussion about his safety; should the owls be tracked to No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry would be compromised and possibly harmed or killed. With that, Hermione broke down and gave in to his request. Never let it be said that she did not care for Harry.

After that, everything seemed to go back to normal, with the exception of the many letters from Harry asking if he had heard from Ron or Hermione, and why they hadn't replied to any of his messages and why they had been sent back unread. The letters had started off with simple requests to contact his friends and had quickly devolved into rants of why everyone was ignoring him.

Eventually, one month into the summer Hol's, the letters abruptly stopped. Although Albus thought it somewhat strange, he did not believe it to be cause for concern and summarily ignored it. Suddenly, two days ago, something truly peculiar did happen. One of the monitoring devices for Harry, simply out of the blue, exploded. It had been a little circular ball on a cube of strange metal, one that emitted a small amount of mist. The purpose of the device had been to monitor the boy's magical core growth. Although this had both surprised and caught the old headmaster off guard, what had been truly strange was what happened next.

It put itself back together. Perfectly. And then, as if nothing happened at all, it puffed out it's mist, as if trying to say "nothing to see here folks, move along". He had initially wanted to investigate this further, but since the piece had been put back together, and was incapable of being compromised or giving false readings, he didn't give it, specifically, much more consideration. Dumbledore did, after all, have more important things on his mind, key amongst them being how to locate and destroy Tom and his merry band of murderers, although he did give passing glances at the plethora of monitors, just in case it happened again.

Dumbledore sighed once more. He was digressing, and knew it. Just yesterday, he had sent Harry a letter, detailing when he would be picked up to be moved to Grimmauld Place and be with his friends, Godfather, and the Weasley family again, a location that he was incapable of putting to paper at this time. And then, earlier today, he received the letter he was currently trying to understand for the fourth time.

It wasn't that the letter held any real threats of violence or fears of any kind; actually it didn't seem all that irregular in it's own way, but there seemed a strangeness to the contents of the letter that made Dumbledore question its obvious, and potentially hidden, meaning. After careful review, he surmised that it had no hidden meaning (or if it did he was incapable of deciphering what it was) and, for all intents and purposes, it should not have raised a flag of concern within his heart. But it did. Once again, for the fifth time, he read the letter, trying valiantly to find some strange code of distress within the letter's words.

_Dear Headmaster,_

_I thank you for your letter, and the permission to leave Privet Drive and visit with my friends, but it will not be necessary. I will be remaining here for the remainder of the summer Hols, barring any unusual circumstances beyond my control. Although I do not like it here, I have found an activity that is occupying the majority of my time these days, and one that I cannot currently leave at the moment, as it needs all of my concentration._

_It should be of no consequence by the time the term starts, but if so, then no real loss I would say. The Dursleys have been no more pleasant than they normally are, but we have reached an understanding, one that seems to benefit all involved. Once again, I must request that neither you, nor one of your liaisons, come and retrieve me, as there is nothing to be worried about, and I see no reason to leave so late in the summer._

_Currently, I do not have anything of consequence to write about, as nothing of importance has happened any time in the recent past. Please give Ron and Hermione my warmest regards, seeing as how they are seeing fit to ignore my correspondence. I am now beginning to question my friendship with them, as they seem to no longer want to associate with me in any discernable way. _

_Although this saddens me somewhat, I am finding myself more and more indifferent to the prospect of being alone. It seems it is my destiny to live out the remainder of my existence in solitude, filled with the scorn of my peers... such is life, right Headmaster? I look forward to seeing you all upon my return to Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

Dumbledore sighed once more. There was something wrong. He could feel it, deep within his core, but was unable to identify what it was as of yet, and it was aggravating him to no end. The first half of the letter seemed..._suspicious_, and roused more questions than answers. Why did he want to remain at No. 4 now, when not more than a month ago he couldn't wait to leave? Why stay in a place he hates, when he could go to a place where his friends and godfather were waiting for him? Why stay someplace you didn't like?

What was this activity? What did it involve? Who else was privy to it? Why was it important? Why could it not wait or be moved, or done elsewhere? What was the common ground between him and the Dursley's? So many questions, but the answers were not forthcoming.

While the first part of the letter was strange and thought provoking, the second half was alarming, if only mildly so(to him at least, no telling how the others would receive it). Mildly, mostly due to the fact that the previous letters had much the same subject of concern: Abandonment, and if not that, betrayal and disgust, although the disgust was not directed at his friends, but at his perception of their apparent disgust at him for whatever reason. Dumbledore held no doubt within himself that the three teenagers would put aside their differences and become friends once more. Of that, he was most certain.

What really surprised him though, was the maturity of the letter, and what it seemed to lack. There were no real feelings to what was written, everything seemed to be cold, indifferent and giving the feeling of being fake, but for the life of him could not give a reason as to why it felt so. It was like Harry was putting on a show of normality on the outside, but on the inside he was apathetic; as if he didn't care, one way or the other.

He looked away from the letter and stared at the ceiling, pondering for a few moments. After almost half an hour of thinking to himself, he once again looked at the letter, this time not at the words, but the letters they were made from, and his eyes opened in surprise. While looking at the first paragraph, he noticed something peculiar. All of the letters looked exactly the same. There were no subtle nuances, no deviations from one "o" or "w" to the next.

After looking at the letter in its entirety once more, he noticed it was all the same. Every letter was perfectly similar to all of its self same counterparts that covered the parchment. It was as if they were made with a printing press, but it was obvious to anyone that they were written by hand, and that the script belonged to Harry. But for all intents and purposes, there was nothing wrong. As it stood, Dumbledore would respect Harry's wishes. Since there was no perceivable threat either way, he saw no reason not to. But, that did not mean he would not investigate the matter.

oOo0oOo

Over the next three weeks, he sent Harry two letters, both of which were nothing more that confirmations to previously stated desires for solitude, and questions pertaining to his "Activity", to which Harry replied affirmative to the former, and next to nothing consequential or informative to the latter. The second letter he sent had subtly bribed Harry with the prospect of being with his godfather, but the boy didn't bite.

Since there was no new news, he let the matter drop. Hogwarts would be opening its doors to learned and learning alike soon, so he would have to put his whole attention on that, as well as search for yet another DADA professor. A sad smile graced his aged features. Such was the life of a headmaster. He could no longer give any attention of note to the mystery of whatever it was that Harry was doing.

Dumbledore decided he would send one more letter as a last ditch effort. He was relatively certain that it would meet the same level of success as its predecessors, but some effort was better than no effort at all. After putting quill to parchment to compose a letter requesting his presence at No 12 Grimmauld Place(sans address of course), he rolled the parchment up and gave it to Fawkes, requesting that it go to Harry.

With a flash of phoenix fire, Fawkes made his departure. Not more than ten minutes later he returned, Harry's reply in beak. After reading it, and realizing it was the same response, simply worded differently, he gave a sigh, disposed of it, and turned his attention to another task; with the first day of term eight days away, he could no longer keep his attention on what seemed to be a lost cause. Besides, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself, he had more pressing matters to attend to after all.

oOo0oOo

Harry sat alone in his room, eyes on the point where Fawkes had flashed away mere moments ago. It was close to five in the afternoon, and normally at this time the sun would be at the right height to shine right into his room, as if focused on that one point specifically. But not today. Not today, yesterday, and not a month and some days ago or the time in between.

For the past 39 days, his room had been in absolute darkness. It wasn't that sunlight, or any light really, was harmful or detrimental to his continued existence... it simply irritated him, his eyes having become somewhat sensitive to light, forcing him to wear the obsidian shades that were perched atop his nose currently. Even though his shades were as opaque as the stone of the same name, he could see perfectly. His vision, once his greatest weakness, seemed to have become one of his greatest assets since "The Event".

Since "The Event", as he refuses to call it anything else, his body had undergone some rather drastic changes. He looked down at his right hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers into a fist rhythmically. As his eyes panned slowly left, he took note of one of the more major changes to occur. Currently he was nude, as he had been for the last three weeks, finding any type of clothing to cause unwanted physical irritation to his surprisingly sensitive skin. He dreaded, returning to Hogwarts, as that meant that he would once again have to don the itchy and uncomfortable fabrics of cotton and wool.

Or rather, he would have dreaded. For whatever reason, after the "The Event", he was incapable of feeling anything even remotely emotional in nature, whether it be fear, hatred, joy or love. He was emotionally dead now, and he knew, although he did not know how, that he should feel saddened by this, but was not able to muster up the appropriate sensation. It seemed it was beyond him. He felt... _detached_, for lack of a better term, like he was watching himself perform his various actions, instead of actually doing them.

As his eyes came to a stop on his left hand, he brought the appendage to his face and slowly turned it this way and that, spreading his fingers wide, only to collapse them into a fist and back again. He did not know specifically what it was that caused this... _anomaly _to happen to him; whether it was one big thing, or several small ones that came at him in quick succession, he could not say.

The only thing he could be certain of, however, was that time was running out for him. Fast. He didn't know how much longer his body would sustain its form, but Harry knew it wouldn't be more than a month at the most. At the least... possibly a week if he was lucky, but he was never known for his luck. However, even with his life thread thinning under the razors edge of the blades of the fates, he could not bring himself to be concerned with the knowledge of his impending demise looming over the horizon. There was only one thing on his mind, one final objective left to complete.

_Yes_... if everything went well, this could all be over. No more Dark Lord. No more Death Eaters. He had a plan to finish what was started oh so long ago. All he needed was for the opportunity to present itself, and then he could take out Voldemort for good.

And, if things went his way perfectly, he wouldn't be too far behind.

**oOo0oOo**

Recently acquired a spell checker program, and found a lot of misspelled words. Microsoft Word is shot on this computer so that's an out right there. fixed all(or all that I've found anyway) errors. I hate poor spelling, and do everything I can to prevent it. It ruins a story.


	2. Core SelfDestruct: Initiated

Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

Core Self-Destruct: Initiated

The Hogwarts Express had arrived at precisely 8 a.m., as it did since its inception all those years ago. Most of the students would not arrive until between ten and ten thirty, so when Harry arrived at Platform 9 3/4's at eight fifteen with trunk in hand, he wasn't surprised to seen he was one of the few. As he passed through the threshold of the pillar separating the muggle world and the wizarding one, of the forty or so people he could see, only about twelve of them were students, most of them seventh years it looked like. He could see that most of them were relaxed and enjoying each others company.

When the crowd took notice of his arrival, he saw the reactions were varied. Some of the older men and women, presumably the students parents and other assorted relatives, were quick to touch hand to wand, a reflex action of a time better left forgotten, while the majority of the others of the same age flinched fearfully. The ones in their early twenties and younger mostly gave bored expressions, or ones of curiosity, at his appearance. An appearance that, if he cared to think about it, under different circumstances he would have felt the same.

Harry's choice in wardrobe left something to be desired, or at least it did to the wizards and witches present. From top to bottom, the boy's body was covered in either black cloth or animal hide, not showing any skin whatsoever. On his head, he wore a skull cap beanie, the bottom of it coming to just below his eyebrows in the front, and, covering his ears as well, down to the base of his skull in the back. Not that anyone would be able to tell that last part, as the bottom half of his face was covered from the lip of a very high collared(the top of which came to cover his nose and everything below it) zip up fleece sweater with a single breast pocket over his heart. The top of the zipper was joined at his right ear, while the bottom at his left hip. His eyes were protected from all things by the pair of wraparound obsidian glasses he'd been wearing since "The Event" occurred, and his hands were encased in a cheap pair of leather gloves.

His legs were covered in a pair of black denim jeans, durable but cheap, and his feet in a pair of simple black work boots. What caught Harry's attention, though, was that the majority of the people at King's Cross Station were staring at his boots, as if the style was something they were unfamiliar with, or they'd never seen a pair of boots before. True it was strange, but nothing to be concerned about.

Tightening his grip on the trunk, he walked to the loading area for trunks, supplies, and various other items and, after standing it up on its side, left it with the others of its kind. Sparing the crowd of curious onlookers not even a glance, he entered the seventh car of the Hogwarts Express and made to find a suitable place to sit for the duration of the ride. Normally he would have gotten a room on one of the last two cars, Hermione and Ron being with him. But now, alone, he felt it was no longer necessary to do so. That, and he saw no reason to be in the general vicinity of his former mates. He had enough pain to deal with as it was.

Choosing a suite in the third car from the engine, he sat down and waited for the soon to be influx of students arriving for their next year at Hogwarts, or in the case of first years, their first one. It was sure to be a memorable year, of that he was certain.

o0oOo0o

_Oh my god! How is it that no matter when they leave, they're almost always barely on time!_, Hermione thought to herself, frustration evident on her features. She arrived with the Weasleys at ten forty-five, with just enough time to drop off their trunks, say their goodbyes, and get on the train. As they, her and Ron that is( the twins had mysteriously disappeared soon after arrival, and Ginny... well, Merlin only knows where she flew off to), entered the caboose and looked for a suite, she kept an eye out for Harry.

She hadn't been able to communicate with him at all over the summer, much to her chagrin, and wanted to rectify that immediately. She had so many things to tell him! First and foremost of course, being that she had made Prefect. Not that there was any doubt she would become one, she just wanted to be praised by her best friend. Other than her parents, Harry's words, those few that he said, were always heartfelt and, for as long as she had known him, always truthful. With a smile on her face, she went off and looked for Harry.

It had been 15 minutes, and as Hermione looked in through the port window of every suite in the last two cars, she came to a rather startling conclusion. Harry wasn't there. As the train blew the final whistle for departure, she began to fret. When she felt the initial lurch of forward momentum, her concerns were fast becoming realized fears. _Where is Harry?_, she wondered to herself as she checked the port windows of the last two cars for the third time. All of the suites were now full, and Harry Potter was nowhere in sight. She huffed to herself in frustration as she looked at her watch. Hermione had a prefects meeting in four minutes, and, surprisingly enough, could not bring herself to worry about that with the current crisis at hand.

She brought her hand to her mouth and drummed her fingers to her lips in nervous thought. Prefects meeting or search for Harry? As these two thoughts warred against one another in her head, Ron was walking up behind her. When he saw Hermione standing in the middle of the passage way of the fifth car from the engine house, he was initially curious, but he had other concerns at the moment, smiling as he fingered his Prefect's badge, and clasped Hermione's shoulder to get her attention.

"Come on 'Mione-"

"_Don't call me 'Mione!_", she whispered harshly at him, giving him a glare for good measure. Ron, being as thick as he was redheaded, of course, failed to register this.

"- we have to get to the meeting. We're almost late as it is. C'mon." And with that, using all the subtlety that Ronald Bilius Weasley was known for, guided her to the Prefect's Suite, Hermione's protests falling on deaf ears.

o0oOo0o

45 minutes later, an incensed Hermione followed by a confused Ron left the meeting. _Malfoy! Damn that wretched, close-minded, supremacist little... little... Grr! _The little ferret had angered her to speechlessness, surprising Ron to no end. All during the meeting, the Head Boy and Girl were informing the new Prefects of their responsibilities, and warned them to not use their status for anything that may be perceived as favoritism for their house, or odium for the remaining three. At that point, comically, all eyes went to Malfoy, who looked nonplussed.

As the list of responsibilities were being disclosed, Draco began making semi obscene comments to Hermione. His remarks about her blood purity, or lack thereof, had left her mostly unscathed, it was his comments on her intelligence that had hurt. To think, with his grades being paid for instead of earned, that he had the GALL to accuse her of cheating! The Nerve of some people! All she wanted to do now was sit, relax, and find Harry. But not necessarily in that order.

o0oOo0o

Harry Potter was sitting on the port side of the third car facing forward, his eyes closed behind his lenses, as he'd had them for the last two weeks, but was still, somehow, capable of sight. Of a sort anyway. He had been sitting, leaning forward slightly with his elbows resting on his knees, surprisingly alone for the last four hours while attempting to calm the turmoil in the space that used to occupy his heart.

The tremors were fast becoming hard to control, as well as causing painful vibrations to his skin. At first it was the pain equivalent of torn muscles, muscles that happened to be all over his body, and the tremors had been only mild shakes, similar to a slight full body shiver. As time progressed, it had only gotten worse, with the pain escalating to indescribable heights, with the tremors looking like an earthquake had erupted all over his body. He could almost swear, that if it weren't for the pain, he wouldn't know if he was alive or not. Although it was a haunting reminder that his time was running out.

After getting the worst of it under control, he allowed himself to relax. They were getting worse, and he knew it. It wouldn't be long now before his body would reject the restraints he'd been forced to put on it, in the hopes that it would make things more bearable. They hadn't. As he began to calculate how long his body would support him, he caught the sight of two people on the peripheral of his right eye coming his way. Two very familiar people, both of which he had no want or reason to speak to, let alone be in the presence thereof. Life seems to enjoy throwing a wrench into the plans of everyone from time to time. Himself, it seemed, most especially.

"Listen Hermione", Ron had said, "I'm sure Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he told us not to stay in contact with Harry. I mean, he'd bore witness to Diggory's death, that's got to mess a bloke up a little. The Headmaster had just asked us to give him a little time to himself, to calm down and quit his weeping."

Hermione stared at him, giving him such a glare, that if looks could kill, his head would have exploded like a zit. "Yes Ron", she had said through gritted teeth, "a _little _time, not the whole summer! I can't believe I listened to him. Why, if he..."

That was as far as she got when she spotted Harry, albeit unknowingly, sitting there, the sole occupant of the room. "Oh! Um... sorry! I hope you don't mind the company, but all the other suites are full, _or filled with undesirable elements_", she said, grounding out the last bit in a mutter.

Were he able to sigh, he was sure he would have. Well, maybe. His emotions were still nonexistent. Thankfully that meant no fear or depression, while it was also unfortunate that happiness and love were beyond his scope of understanding. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to escape them now, he waved his hand invitingly to the seat opposite himself, the appendage shaking slightly as it moved. _This is going to be a long ride_, he thought to himself.

o0oOo0o

_It should be illegal to wear sunglasses indoors_, Hermione thought to herself. The weird man sitting across from her could be staring at her chest for all she knew. There was something very strange about the other passenger, the sunglasses not withstanding, something she just could not put her finger on. It might be his all encompassing attire. Or, it could be the fact that he didn't appear to be breathing. _Or_, she thought to herself, _it might be that he hasn't moved AT ALL since we sat down_. That, more than anything, was disturbing her greatly. She was still trying to muster up the courage to say something to this _strange _stranger, when Ron decided to open his gargantuan maw.

"Uh, hello there, hmm", his brain seeming to have failed him, as he could not finish what ever he was about to say. Given an opening(of sorts) she made an attempt to introduce themselves to the man in black.

"My name is Hermione Granger, and this is my friend Ron Weasley. We're fifth years and in Gryffindor. It's a pleasure to meet you", she said as she gave him her hand.

The man in black remained still, giving Hermione the impression that he hadn't heard her, when he gave a short nod, yet said nothing. Her mind was thinking fast, trying to open a line of communications to him, if for no other reason than to end the awkwardness she was feeling. With nothing else coming to mind, she pulled her hand back and asked, "um, do you attend Hogwarts too?"

Still leaning over slightly, he raised his right hand to his breast pocket, and pulled out an old, small, twice folded, rectangular piece of parchment, and tossed it onto her lap. Confused, she gave a look over to Ron, whose face read surprise as well as confusion , and in response to her unasked question, gave a shrug. Not really thinking, she picked up the parchment and unfolded it, and found its one word reply.

_Yes_.

"O-oh, really? What, uh, what h-house?" she all but stuttered out. Although nervous, she was also mildly disturbed that the trick had still surprised her somewhat. That such a simple parlor trick could amaze her made Hermione somewhat irritated. That a wizard would stoop to such mundane seeming magic tricks, like a common muggle "Magician", made her feel like he was making fun of the wizard traditions of old, of which she'd flounce from time to time as well, but usually not in the presence of others(outside of Harry of course. And some times Ron). What he did over the next hour would raise her ire and amaze her all the more.

The man summoned the paper from between her fingers, catching it between his index and middle finger of his right hand. He shook the worn parchment once, which somehow turned the paper from old and floppy, to new and stiff and in the form of a card, the side that faced them was black. He extended his arm towards them, and flipped the card over, displaying the Gryffindor Crest to them. Needless to say, Ron was wide eyed with glee at the mild display of magic.

"Wicked", he said," that was a right awesome trick it was." the man flipped the card over once more. Instead of the black side of the card they'd been expecting, there were two words.

_Thank you._

Hermione, her curiosity getting the better of her, asked him, " How are you doing that?", and was already dreading the answer as she watched him flip the card.

_Magic_.

She groaned and rolled her eyes, all the while Ron was attempting to, and failing, to hold in his chuckles. When she gave him an elbow followed with a glare, he could contain himself no longer. "What did you expect him to say 'Mione?", he said between bouts of laughter, receiving a harder glare for his troubles, but continued on, "That he used some muggle scientific process, or some other such nonsense? Let the man have his secrets."

_All of this is well and good_, she thought to herself angrily, _but we're getting off the original topic_. Hermione composed herself, and after a moment asked, "You're in Gryffindor? What's your name? Maybe we've seen you some where or other."

With a flip of his card, he replied, _My name is of no importance._

"...Okay. What year are you in then?", she asked, to which he responded with a number 5 when the card was turned. "Uh, you don't say much do you?" A simple _No_ was his only reply. She dropped her head in defeat and sighed. Trying to get information out of him was an effort in futility. Raising her head to look at his face, and after giving an inquisitive glance to his eyes that caused a raised eyebrow in curiosity, she took notice of his glasses. Hermione hadn't noticed it before, but they were of one solid piece of... plastic? Glass? She didn't know the material, but it was amazingly crafted all the same. Her curiosity getting the better of her again, she asked, " May I see your lenses?", fully expecting a flat out refusal.

Much to her surprise(and pleasure), he placed the card back into his pocket, with his right hand, and after it disappeared over the lip of his pocket, gently grabbed the glasses by the nose and handed them to her with the prongs facing her. His eyes, she noticed, were closed.

"Amazing", she said after twisting and turning the lenses this way and that, marveling at their weight, which was substantial, the cold feel of stone, and the fact that they were completely opaque. There was no way he could see through them, at all. "What are they made of?", she asked after she completed her inspection.

He pulled the card from his pocket and, once again, tossed it onto her lap. When she flipped it, it said _Obsidian_. As she was about to ask how they were made, the suite door opened and she was interrupted by an unexpected, and very unwanted, visitor. Well three, really, but the other two didn't register as intelligent life forms.

"Well, well, well", started the blonde heir of the Malfoy line, " if it isn't the mudblood and the poor, _poor _blood traitor! With the Dark Lord's return, I'd watch myself I were you lot. You'll not get much mercy from him." With a sneering leer, he gave Hermione an appraising eye. " Although", he said as he licked her lips, "you may be useful as a consort... or _whore_."

Ron jumped up, face red in outrage and wand in hand, "You go to far Malfoy! Stu-"

_"Expelliarmus!"_, Malfoy whispered harshly, the wands of not only Ron, but Hermione as well, flying to his outstretched hand. Although he was mildly surprised that the wand from the black clad man did not also fly to him, he marked it up the possibility he might be using a sticking charm or something akin to it. "Well now, not so tough without Potter, are you weasel?", and laughed at his disadvantaged opponent, who wore a look of apprehension on his face. His two goons, after a moment, also laughed, though it was forced. After all, it takes a great deal of effort to laugh when your brain is the size of a marble. As Malfoy was about to hex the two but good, he was interrupted by the black clad man as he slowly stood up and faced him, his eyes still closed.

"Oh? And what have we here? A hero?", Malfoy said, pointing his wand at the only unknown quantity in the room. "It seems we'll have to make an example out of you."

As he was about to release the first spell to come to mind, the card, which was on Hermione's lap still, flew to the man in black's hand, which he then brandished, the back facing Malfoy. When he flipped it simply said this:

_Leave. This is your only chance._

"Leave? Me? Why would I leave, when I have the upper hand?", he said pompously, a sneer cutting across his face. "I'm not sure if you noticed this, fool, but I'm the one with the wand drawn. You don't-"

That was as far as he got. The card disappeared, his hand flat with his fingers facing up, palm facing Malfoy, in a position as if to say "Stop". He pulled his hand back an inch, and then thrust it forward to the same position it came from. The effect was instantaneous. Malfoy, Once standing proudly, was pushed off his feet and through the door way by the force of the action, slamming into the wall opposite. The man in black's hand still raised in the same position, he collapsed his fingers into a fist, causing a horrendous crunching noise to erupt from Malfoy's chest as his ribs shattered.

Malfoy gasped deeply, the pain beyond excruciating. His bodyguards, if they can be called that, bore witness to this overwhelming display of power, and ran. As he fought to stay conscious, he felt a wind come from nowhere, but seem to flow in all directions at once. With it came a voice, distended, carried by the sudden wind. And thusly, did it speak."_Hhhhlisten well, last scion of Malfoy, for you will only hear this once. You would do well to change your ways, for the winds are leading away from the dusk, and are finding themselves drawn towards the dawn. When that happens, if you remain as you are, you, as well as your house, will fall. Remember this well, __**boy**__, for this is your first, last and only warning. Now, leavehhhH."_

With that, he spread his fingers out once more, causing another sickening crunch as all of his ribs mended themselves, painfully. He summoned the wands of his suite mates, and gingerly returned them to their rightful owners, while retrieving his glasses from Hermione's lap. Once that was done, he closed the door, and sat back down, in the exact same spot, in the exact same position. The only difference from pre and post Malfoy, was the man in black was shivering rather violently.

Moments later, the occupants heard a strange noise, like a body being dragged on carpet, and realized it was Malfoy crawling away. When the noise passed, Ron and Hermione couldn't contain their curiosity any longer. It unfortunately didn't come out too clearly though.

o0oOo0o

After Harry sat down, his condition took a nosedive. The pain was beyond anything he'd already felt, even after performing some procedures to increase his time limit. The Shivers, as he had recently come to call one of the symptoms of his condition, were currently wracking his body with unhealthy doses physically equivalent cruciatus. After the confrontation with Malfoy, he'd come to realize something that would have been useful ten minutes ago: magic usage, no matter how short = torturous pain. As he once again tried to center himself and calm down the Shivers to a manageable level, he was continuously interrupted by his two co-passengers.

"That was wick-"

"How did you do that wandle-"

"Bloody Malfoy, he-"

"Ronald! Language!"

"Bah, whatever 'Mione! Hey, can you do that to Snape too? He's -"

"_Don't call me "Mione! _Are you able to do anything else wandlessly, or -"

And so it went; on and on and on and on. For the next three hours, they continued to pester him, failing to either realize or acknowledge that he wasn't answering any of their questions. Eventually the interrogation turned into a small disagreement, which escalated to an argument of a level he didn't need right now, but was incapable of stopping at the moment.

All the noises soon came to an end. After all, the train had to dock at the station eventually. To Harry, it hadn't come soon enough.

**o0oOo0o**

I understand that there are probably a lot of questions that are without answers right now. The next chapter will clear up everything. Or rather, I hope I answer them all.


	3. Unknown Savior

Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

The Unknown Savior

After the train stopped at the station, it took Harry no small amount of effort to avoid everyone on the way to the castle. He eventually went to the loo and decided to cast a glamour on himself to appear in Hogwarts robes and look like an nondescript teenage boy, purposely giving himself a face soon forgotten by those who had seen it. Harry chose this over a disillusionment mostly due to the fact it didn't render him completely invisible, while under a glamour, no one would question a person they can't recall seeing. He opted not to use the cloak, unless an emergency came about, or he needed to hide quickly. After leaving the toilet and giving a look around and noticing that no one was paying any attention to him, he carried on to the castle, taking a less than direct route.

By taking the path to Hogwarts through the Shrieking Shack, he was able to walk at a leisure pace, centering himself, calming the Shakes down to a slight twitch every now and then. So far, everything was going as well as he could hope. Currently no one knew who he was, and he'd like to keep it that way. The one person he needed to talk to was somewhere in the castle and now within easy reach. And finally, his mission was almost complete. Pulling out the map, he saw that he was currently in the dungeons; he couldn't understand why he was there at this time, but he had other things to worry about... like how he was going to get him to help him at all. Still, Harry was sure that he would soon render aid. He just needed to talk to him first. Putting the map back in his pocket, he carried on down the corridor to the dungeons.

Harry felt a quake ripple through him and stopped suddenly, leaning heavily against the wall and grasped his chest as it blossomed in pain. After some time, the sensation passed and he continued on his way to the dungeon, and from there to the classrooms. With any luck, he'd get there with no other mishaps occurring. Which meant that he was due to get stopped...

"Oi, you dere...", a voice said behind him.

_Now._

Stopping in his tracks, Harry turned around and saw the old cantankerous caretaker, a broken mop in hand and Mrs. Norris at his side, "who are ye, and what are ye doing here? Ain't yew s'posed teh be at teh feast?" When he gave no answer, the caretaker went on. "Well ain't ye? Go on then. Get on wit ye", he'd said, giving shooing motions with his hands, all the while swearing under his breath about the harsher punishments of yore. If they worked so well back then why couldn't they be used now?

Harry gave a nod of his head to the custodian, and made to walk back up to the Great Hall. As soon as he got out of sight of Filch, he pulled his cloak out of his pocket and all but floated invisibly by the old caretaker and his companion. As he made his way to the classrooms, he passed several Slytherins on their way to the house dorms. When he noticed that one of them was Malfoy, he slowed his pace but still continued onward.

Malfoy, it seemed, recovered enough to walk in a straight line. He was still considerably more pale than he is known for, and, for some _strange _reason, rubbed the palm of his right hand on his chest. No doubt checking to see if his ribs were still intact. He was flanked on either side by his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, and they walked two steps behind him in pace. _They_ were shadowing a girl with thick, shiny, black hair. Upon further inspection, he came to realize it was... **Greengrass**? Daphne **Greenegrass**, that was her name... or at least he _thought_ that was her name. He'd never bothered to remember the names of his potential enemies. He also remembered hearing mention of an ice queen or other when there was talk of Greenegrass. He couldn't bring himself to care at the moment about the details as, currently, events were playing out before him. Turning from his original path reluctantly, he proceeded to follow them. This could prove informative. As he walked, he observed the quartet in front of him with a critical eye.

Surprisingly, the boys were actually being silent as they closed the distance between them and her. At first it seemed innocent enough. Of course, anything regarding these three burial plots waiting to happen is less innocent that it seems. The girl, pretty though she may be (even borderline soullessness couldn't completely kill off his appreciation for the beauty of the opposite sex), was inattentive, and this would be her undoing. Almost silently, Malfoy summoned her wand, slowly, from the pocket of her skirt, his prey unaware of what he was doing as he slid the wand into his left sleeve. It didn't help her situation at all, he mused, when he realized that they were heading into a dead end.

Harry marveled at the fact that she didn't even notice that her wand was gone, let alone where she was heading, and wondered at what could possibly be going through her head that held her attention so. Harry did not have the luxury of time, but he would wait till the last minute before he passed judgment on Malfoy. If he did anything at all. She was, after all, still a Slytherin, and he had another agenda he had to pursue.

With that thought, and the instantaneous realization that his time was, indeed, running out, he turned and left the Slytherins to their petty squabbles. He did not, he believed as he walked away, have time to see how this little "conflict" would end.

o0oOo0o

Daphne Greenegrass had been in deep thought since she had met her friend Tracey on the Express. Something had not been quite right about her, but for the life of her she didn't know what it was. It wasn't helping that Tracey wasn't too keen on speaking about it, whatever 'it' was, with her. So lost in her thoughts was she, Daphne didn't even know where she was going, but it didn't matter. Only Slytherins were down in the dungeon levels at this time. She shivered as a draft made it's presence known, cutting through her robes as if they weren't there. The damn things were all too common, Especially down in the dungeons where she currently was. She sighed to herself. Why was it always so cold down here?

Dinner was still forestalled by the sorting of the new students, so not too many people were around and about, and the sorting itself was probably only half done. She wanted nothing to do with it all right now, her sole concern being what happened to Tracey over the summer. She was brought from her pondering by the sound of the one voice she could live the rest of her life, happily mind you, without ever hearing again.

"Why, if it isn't Ice Queen Greenegrass herself", Malfoy had said when they were deep enough into the hallway. Daphne's eyes closed in frustration. With mask in place, she sighed inwardly, and turned around. When she saw Malfoy and his bodyguards she had initially thought nothing of it. The blustering overly pompous fool had made his affections and intentions for her known, more times than necessary, and had been silently turned down every time, which did not seem to hinder him at all. Marks for tenacity and perserverance.

When she looked in between them and saw no one at all, she slowly started to back up, failing to notice that there was no exit behind her. No witnesses equals no backup. No backup means bad things, no matter how one looked at it. She was trapped, finally realizing it when her back touched the cold stone wall. As an afterthought, she grasped for her wand, and, finding it not there, her eyes widened in shock and a substantial amount of fear. The boy, ever malicious in nature, grinned wickedly at her when the realization of her predicament flashed across her face, the smugness coming off him was almost palpable. " Shall we bow before her grace, eh, gentlemen?"

She was initially surprised to see him around and about, mostly due to him being at the feast around this time, imposing his will upon the first years, and attempting to solidify his hold on the year classes above them. _Well, people and things change, so it's not hard to see this fool doing so as well, just surprising._ As she was about to retort, another draft breezed by, itself not strange, but Malfoy's reaction was, most definitely. He flinched mightily, then his eyes glazed over for a split second before darting around in fear, of what she had no clue. When nothing happened, he took a breath and brought himself back to the calm, collected, pit-spawn he was moments ago.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Don't you have first years to terrify?" She brought her mask up and tried to make herself sound more confident that she was, but she could see the ruse for what it was; she was afraid, and depending on what was about to happen, she had every right to be. He had become more insistant over the summer when trying to make appointments for her to visit, or for him to visit her. She had turned down all of them, on the pretense of being busy or away on those days. Something tickled her memory, but it flashed away before she could grasp what it was.

Ever since the rise of the dark lord, the Malfoys had been getting more and more intolerable to be around, as well as many of the other old families, like the Notts, Crabbes, Goyles, and Parkinsons. Although it wasn't common knowledge he was back yet, that didn't stop those in the know from taking full advantage of the situation. No one was safe from their touch; both figurative and literal.

Herself and her family, as well as the Davis', and Zabinis were being hard pressed to choose a side, no longer able to give "Neutral" as an acceptable faction. Given a choice she'd not have anything to do with this war, but, things being as they are, that was not an available option. Right now, she could only hope that the little degenerate didn't have anything too disgusting planned, and that she would be able to go to her dormitory mostly unscathed.

It was not to be it seems.

"Now now my dear, _dear_, _Daphne_", the way he said her name made her shiver in disgust, "there's no need to be so... _coy_. After all, we are about to get to know one another, _**intimately**__._"

Daphne's eyes widened in pure concentrated fear and, suddenly, it came to her, and she feared what he was about to do now, and with good reason. She had heard that Nott paid a visit to Tracey during the summer, and had, at the time, thought nothing of it. When she saw her friend on the Express, however, Daphne noticed that she had been irreversibly changed, and not for the better. Something had happened, and it left Tracey Davis haunted. And now... now it seemed it was to happen to her as well. She swallowed loudly. Surely he didn't mean what she thought he meant? There's no way that he would... would he? Certainly not here at Hogwarts! Right? Right?!

Not knowing if he was bluffing or not, she held her tongue, and remained silent, hoping against hope that her suspicions were unfounded. That they were flights of paranoia, caused by a weary mind concerned for a friend.

They weren't.

"Strip, Daphne", he said, a wicked, grinning leer slashed its way across his face, one that was copied in kind by his compatriots. As his mercury gray eyes bored into her amethyst ones, he saw as her mask all but shattered under the pressure of the knowledge that she was soon to be defiled. "I want you as nude as the day you were born... it's high time we saw how well you've matured over the years."

He chuckled darkly. If she was lucky, _and good, _he thought to himself, he'd help her forget with the aid of an obliviation, if only to do it again to receive the same result. If not, and she wasn't, well... let her be a lesson to the rest, eh? Slytherin House knew not to divulge its secrets.

"No."

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you", he said, his face clouding with rage as he glared menacingly at her, "I don't remember giving you a choice in the matter. Now, do as a say, or there will be consequences. I assure you, if it comes to that, they will be unpleasant."

"I said no Malfoy!", she said defiantly, doing everything within her power to keep the fear coursing through her body from showing visibly. It wasn't working too well, as she shivered, continuously, as though cold. "There is no way you louts will ever get away with this! Give me my wand, and let me go free, and I'll forget this even hap-"

SLAP!

Daphne brought her right hand up to the cheek of the same side as she felt the skin beginning to heat up and swell from the blow. Her eyes were instantly upon his, a look of incredulous disbelief upon her face. It didn't last, though, as his left hand was making a return swing to her opposite cheek.

SLAP!

The force of the blow knocked her off her feet, making her land on her right side, her shoulder slamming painfully into the ground. With the knuckles of his left hand turning a light pink, Malfoy, a sick smile on his face, kneeled down to face her, reveling in her discomfort, drinking in her fear with great pleasure, committing everything to memory; all that he saw, heard, smelled, tasted and touched, as though it were a rare drug, savoring it like a death row inmate with his last meal.

"_Silencio_", he whispered, his wand pointed to her chest. "Now then, my _dear_", the last forced through gritted teeth a sneer cutting across his handsome features, "I said there would be consequences, didn't I?"

He looked down at her, quivering as though she were naked in a blizzard, tears making little rivers as they cascaded down her cheeks, the sight of which aroused him to no end. He smiled. "What's the matter Daphne? Speechless? _Dumb_founded?"

At this he and his two henchmen chuckled darkly at her obvious plight. She could see the evidence of their arousal, and it was doing nothing for her thundering heart. _This isn't going to end well_, she thought to her self, her body now trembling with sobs, her eyes squeezing shut an yet tears were still able to slip by. _Not well at all_. When she finally opened her eyes, the trio had stopped laughing, although the mirth at her prone position had yet to leave them. "Now that we've all had a good laugh at this little..._ Icebreaker..._," Malfoy said, the smile still on his face, "lets go over it again. Get up." When she didn't immediately respond as he demanded, he gave her a swift, but by no means gentle, kick to the stomach. "_**Now**_."

With both hands protectively covering her belly and her body trembling fearfully, she slowly got to her feet. Daphne rose her a hand up to her face, palm out, in case he decided to strike her again. This caused Malfoy to snort in contempt at her apparent weakness.

"Lower your hand you stupid girl, and listen up." When she complied, he continued. "Now, as I said before, I want you naked, divested of all clothing. Do you understand?", she nodded and he finished, saying, "I'm going to give you to the count of ten. If you have so much as a speck of lint anywhere on your body, I'll beat you before I take what I want from you. Understand? Good. Begin."

When she did nothing at first, he rose his hand to slap her once more. Daphne, having no real defense against him without her wand, flinched mightily, bringing her to an almost fetal position with her arms over her head, and trembled all the more. When at last she opened her eyes again, she saw the hand still raised to strike. The hand, Malfoy's right, remained at the ready, fingers together and fully extended, poised to lay her down mercilessly. As she watched, he collapsed the fingers into a fist, and lowered it to his side.

"This is your only warning. My patience is running thin, you _stupid __**cunt**_, so disrobe, quickly. **One**."

"_Please... no..._", she begged, her lower lip trembling, and tears, already falling from just after the second slap, began to pour from her eyes in earnest. But no one heard her. And no one would. With this knowledge, she began to comply, sobbing piteously, and silently, as she did so. But the mind is an interesting thing. As she knew consciously that she was doomed, subconsciously the only thing going through her mind was, _Please Merlin, let me stall him long enough for help to arrive... please... somebody... Anybody..._

o0oOo0o

Draco Malfoy was pleased. _Oh yes,_ he was most definitely pleased. At the moment he had one of the most desirable girls, if not _the_ most, in front of him cowering in fear, soon to be pleasuring him as he saw fit. That she was known for her ice cold demeanor and overwhelming disdain when in the presence of the opposite sex, while now silently sobbing and trembling in fear, made this a memory no true pureblood would be able, nor want, to forget. To obtain the unobtainable... that was true power. And, with the rise of the Dark Lord, he now held it in his hands. Glorious!

With his goal at hand, his focus was solely on the poor, _poor _victim in front of him. When he was done, no one would know what transpired here, of that he would make absolutely certain. When his two "bodyguards" were done with their turn, he would obliviate the broken shell of a girl that Daphne was soon to become, not taking a gamble with her sanity by letting one of his two idiot companions to do so. Merlin, the thought of an obliviation charm in the hands of Goyle or Crabbe was truly frightening to behold.

_Who knows_, he thought to himself, his sneer turning into a lecherous smile, _she might be good for another round later in the term_. The smile grew wider. _Not that she'd ever know of it._ As the girl was once again at the forefront of his thoughts, he swore he wouldn't make the same mistake Nott did when he paid a "visit" to Davis during the summer Hols. No, he would not leave any rope with which to hang himself. If that was how Theodore went about his business then so be it, but he thought himself considerably more intelligent than his fellow scion, and would not let his newfound power alter his judgments.

He shook his head slightly, once again putting his attention on Daphne, mentally berating himself for his digressions. She had just taken off her robes, leaving her in the required uniform underneath of starched white shirt, silver and green tie, black jumper, knee-high socks, and black Mary Janes. Marveling at what was presented to him with the loss of a single garment, he was amazed what those damn things hid from the roving eye. Her chest, while not as large as Bones' was rumored to be, was still nothing to laugh at. A good handful if anything really. Her legs long, unblemished, skin pale and milky, Cheeks red and wet, eyes puffy from crying, body trembling in unrestrained terror... Malfoy licked his lips eagerly. He could feel his arousal pushing up against the zipper of his trousers, almost painfully now. He was immediately brought out of his good mood by what was **not** happening.

Once again, the girl stopped her ministrations. Clenching his teeth, as well as his fists, the latter of which Daphne noticed with alarm, he walked up to Greenegrass and punched her in the diaphragm, shoving his fist under her ribs, pushing her lungs into her throat. She fell to the ground once more, in a crumpled heap once more, noiselessly gasping for breath. "**Two**", he said, rage evident in his voice, "Do not waste my time, Greenegrass, or you will force me to evoke more of my gentle manipulations... unless you prefer the heavy hands of my companions", at which the two of them puffed out their chests, popped knuckles and stared down at her menacingly, " for I assure you they would gladly lay their hands upon you, although, I doubt you would derive any pleasure from it."

At the rapid shake of her head, her mouth open, attempting to take a deep breath, he said, "I thought not. Get on with it then. **Three**." At her shocked expression, he gave a reply to her unspoken statement, "Times a wasting, deary, get a move on, we haven't all day to wait for you to go about this at your leisure."

With reluctance, she continued the task at hand. Next came the buttons of her shirt, slowly, as her hands were unable to maintain any level of steadiness whatsoever. "**Four**." She tentatively pulled the tails of the shirt from her skirt, the garment now unbuttoned, displaying her simple white brazziere to the three them, their eyes glued to the soft white orbs hidden from view. As they stared, she unconsciously closed her shirt with her left hand. "_**Five**_. Things are not looking well for you my dear", he said, laughter thickening his voice, "Half counted and you've only removed your robes, and unbuttoned your shirt? Tsk tsk Daphne, for shame. Now you've forced my hand. Crabbe, Goyle, take her arms. It seems she's become uncooperative again. I did warn you, didn't I? Now it's going to be unpleasant."

As his bodyguards grabbed her arms by the shoulders, and her wrists, pulling them from her, he pulled his wand out. Her mouth was wide in a scream no one could hear, tears making thin rivers down her cheeks, the flow of which was becoming more and more rapid as time progressed. "This is going to hurt, are you ready? No? Too bad then." With that, he used a moderate cutting curse on her, catching her from clavicle to crotch, cutting through her bra clasp, the top of her skirt, and the front of her unmentionables. The effect was immediate. Daphne's face became contorted in pain, her mouth opening impossibly wider, eyes squeezed shut, but tears still escaping. Her legs buckled beneath her. The only thing, or things rather, keeping her standing were Malfoy's henchmen.

The cut, the width of which was a little under a centimeter and a depth of half that, bled freely, slithering down her chest like a river of crimson snakes, flowing down her stomach, soaking her knickers and the portion of her skirt that still clung to her from between her thighs, sliding down her thighs, and caught, finally, by her socks. Which wasn't to say that quite a bit of it made its way to the floor between her legs, mingling with a tangy scented, yellow fluid when her bladder gave out in fear. The blood loss, though substantial in appearance, was not great, so, fortunately, not really life threatening. Yet.

"Hmm. We need to hurry, I'm not sure how much longer she'll last, and I want her awake for this. Let her go, but keep an eye on her."

When they abruptly let her go, she collapsed bonelessly to the floor, landing on her arse. Daphne drew her shirt over her chest, the blood quickly soaking it, staining the front a deep sanguine. Her body was shivering greatly, obviously wracked with sobs. Malfoy wasn't sure he could get more aroused.

"Alright", he started to say, but was interupted by a voice he'd only heard once before... and it terrified him beyond comprehension.

_"HhhHello MalfoyhhH." _

o0oOo0o

Malfoy froze, as did his two companions. Crabbe and Goyle, who were already facing that direction, wore faces filled with fear; jaws were dropped, eyes were wide and unblinking, and skin tones lightened dramatically. Draco slowly turned around and hoped it wasn't who he thought it was, somehow knowing full well it was. He wasn't dissapointed.

Harry, his identity still unknown to the masses, stood in front of Malfoy, about a foot away, still as death. The girl, Daphne, had been lucky that his unknowing ally had been unavailable. When he began to walk about to waste time he didn't have, he took out the map to see where his target was, and seeing him now at the sorting/feast, looked around the dungeon level, scanning the document for his targets possible entry route into the lowest levels of the castle, when he saw the quartet on the map.

Initially, he hadn't given a second thought to the snakes, he'd seen them earlier personally and nothing of note had happened. It wasn't until he saw the names for Crappe and Boile get on either side of Greenegrass, with Manboy in front of her that he noticed something was off. Removing his cloak, while keeping the map in hand, he traced his steps back to where they were, quickening his pace when he saw name-plate for Greenegrass flickered in alarm and continue to do so.

When the name flashed red, he dispelled the glamour, put the map away, and bolted to them, finding the girl on the floor, bleeding, and the blonde ponce fumbling with his zipper. Although he had no emotions, and no real concern for anything at all, he still had his objectives, priorities, and codes of conduct. The main one being, you do not do this to a girl against her will. Rape, unlike murder, was truly unforgivable and, as such had no choice, according to his direct thought processes from before "The Event", but to intervene.

o0oOo0o

Without warning, the man in black grabbed them collectively, as he had done Malfoy on the train, and slammed them into the wall furthest from her, a meter off the ground, and stuck them there. They grunted in pain at the impact, trying desperately to break free from the invisible bond that held them aloft. They failed. He then turned and walked over to the quivering mass of flesh that was Daphne Greenegrass, no sound coming from his steps. She stared at him in fear, fully believing she'd traded one tormentor for another. As he bent down, she flinched involuntarily, and closed her eyes, waiting for the blow to come, and was surprised when it didn't. When she tentatively opened her eyes and looked at him, he'd taken off the shades and held them out to her, his own eyes closed. She made no move to take them, and outside of breathing and the slight shiver of her limbs, was still.

_"HhhShh, it's going to be ok. I mean you no harmhhH"_, spoke the wind, settling her nerves precious little, _"HhhPut these on and cover your ears, it will all be over soon. I promisehhH."_ Trembling as she did so, Daphne tooke the lenses and placed them over her eyes, noticing immediately that she could see nothing. As she brought her hands to her ears, she unconsciously slid to her side, brought her knees to her chest and prayed that it would be quick and painless.

It wasn't.

Even with her hands clamped tightly over her ears, she could still hear the screams of pain and the crunching of bones as they were broken or shattered in ways she was glad she couldn't bear witness to. As time seemed to stretch on into eternity, and the screams reached a haunting crescendo, it stopped suddenly. What felt like hours couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but still too many for her now fragile psyche. And then, suddenly, it was all over, finally. Or so she dared to hope. She could hear precious little over her own rapid breathing and thunderous heart beat, as well as the stuttering breathes of her three assailants. Her shin, thigh, and back were beginning to get wet with a substance she'd rather not know the identity of and it was doing nothing to alleviate her fears about her current predicament.

Daphne was startled greatly when a gloved hand landed lightly on her shoulder, horror induced panic raising her heart rate dangerously. When the hand began to rub her arm gently, she surprised herself when she relaxed ever so slightly. _"HhhIt's over. They will not hurt you ever againhhH." _The finality of his statement made her shudder, but it still relaxed her further. _"HhhCome. Stand up so I can heal you and fix your clotheshhH."_

Tentatively, she raised her left arm to act as a balance as she used her right to push herself off the cold stone floor. She was almost to her feet, when her foot slid on a blood covered stone, and she slipped back to the ground. A gloved hand gently grasped her left hand firmly with his right, and, placing the other under her right arm, slowly helped her to her feet. When she was steady, he released his hold on her. Daphne heard the sound of cloth moving, the first sound she could remember him making, outside of the windspeak thing he did. "What are you doing?"

_"HhhI'm going to heal the wounds on your chest and face, repair your garments, and escort you to your dorm. I ask only that you not turn around and see what happened, nor remove the lenses until we reach our final destination. It would not be wise to allow you to see the end results of their actions against you right now. Do you require a moment or shall I proceed nowhhH?"_

She gave a sigh and forcibly relaxed herself, letting her arms fall to her side. She didn't want anyone to touch her right now, not when she was almost violated, but she recognized the need for medical assistance. Moments aftter her nod, she shivered as she felt a pleasantly cool probe run down the length of the cut, from top to bottom, pain evaporating the further down it went, until it was all gone.

She blushed furiously when he reached her cleft, but he went no further than the laceration did. A cool breeze gently brushed her nether regions as her knickers knit themselves back together, followed by her skirt. When that was completed, he paused noticeably before saying, _"HhhMy apologies Miss Greenegrass, but I'm going to need you to push the cups of your bra together to repair ithhH." _Still blushing, Daphne brought her hands up to her brazzierre, pulled the cups under the swell of her breasts, and then brought them together. A second later she felt and heard the garment repair itself. With another soft wind, her oxford shirt closed and buttoned itself up, and when the cloth brushed against the skin of her stomach, it was dry. A moment later she felt her robes draped over her shoulders. Finally, a cool hand brushed against her cheeks softly, sending the swelling from the the blows to her face into nonexistance, and she found herself unintentionally leaning into the touch. And then it was gone. She heard him make the same noise as before and then nothing. All this he did, and he only touched her twice, and not once did his hands stray.

_"HhhAre you better Miss GreenegrasshhH?"_

She nodded and then felt his leather covered hand grasp hers, again gently, and led her away from a place she would never return, feeling better than she did before his arrival, all the while she still wore the opaque wraparounds. It was easy to see why she felt that her cold indifference, her mask to all those who might hurt her, was all but shattered, and although it was very slowly coming back, it would not likely ever get back to it's previous level. Her innocence died that day, and she wept for its passing.

Even though her feelings of security were slowly coming back to her, it was far from where it was before Malfoy and his cronies got their filthy hands on her in an attempt to rape her. Since Malfoy tried and failed to violate her, her sense of security, of safety, all but disappeared. As events were playing out, her mind was going spare with fear and shame; fear at what was about to happen, shame that she allowed herself to get into a situation like that in the first place. _Rape_. _Sweet Merlins Beard!_, she thought to herself as she allowed her mind to comprehend what almost happened instead of putting a wall around it and foolishly try to forget it ever happened at all. If only she'd paid attention to what was going on around her, had her wand in hand instead of the pocket of her skirt. Her wand... Her wand!

"My wand! It's still on Malfoy, or Crabbe, or Goyle! One of them has it! I forgot-"

She was interrupted when he let go of her hand and placed a slim cylindrical object onto her still outstretched fingers, it's familliar weight comforting her even further. She could feel the tears once more making their way down her cheeks, but this time in lighter spirits. Placing the wand in her other hand she took his gloved hand once more. "I, um", the alabaster skin of her cheeks pinking as she struggled to find words of gratitude, finally settling with a shyly whispered, "_Thank you._" She received a soft squeeze in reply. As they continued on towards her house common room, she enjoyed the pleasant silence between them, thankful for his aid and perfect timing. Well... close enough anyway.

After a short walk with several turns, he stopped and released her hand once more. Puzzled, she waited for him to do something, as he'd been the dominant one in their companionable stroll back to safety. _"HhhWe are here Miss Greenegrass. I'll be needing my eyes back now if you pleasehhH." _Daphne slowly brought her hands to the sides of the glasses, and pulled them off, her eyes squinting as she tried to get used to the light once more. As she was waiting for things to come back into focus, she looked around herself, and was, in fact, at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. She looked down at her clothes, and found them to be in pristine condition, no stains, spots, tears were on them, and no blood was on her skin. She didn't even feel it leave her skin! When her eyes found the man in black, she shyly walked in front of him and put his shades back on his face for him, all the while fully aware that his eyes were closed and didn't move beneath the lids at all. It was only mildly disturbing.

"I, uh, I-I-", She stopped herself, her face turning crimson, took a breath and tried again. "I don't know how to thank you. If you hadn't arrived, when you did...", She choked as her throat closed, a lump seemingly forming in her air paths, and she began to weep openly, her breaths coming in shallow. Her shoulders rose and fell as her body was wracked with sobs, as the full realization of what happened hit fully with nothing to take her mind off of it like last time, when her wand came to the forefront of her thoughts and blocked it with her panic at losing it. As she was getting lost in her fear, her legs buckled as the pressure was making it hard to stand. But before she fell to the ground in a heap, the man in black caught her and wrapped his arms around her in a light embrace. For the next ten minutes she wept into his chest, shivering slightly, as his body, though comforting, was as cold as clay.

When she had sufficiently calmed down, the black clad man released her, and stepped back. Daphne wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks with her sleeve, and looked him in the eye. "He would have done it if you hadn't stopped them, wouldn't he?", She asked, both wanting to know and desperately wishing she could forget it ever happened at all now that the full weight of the incident was crushing upon her.

To her surprise, he pulled out a black card from his breast pocket, and gave it to her. She grasped it gently, and when her fingers had a firm grip on the card, he released it. When she flipped it over after the black side did nothing, she found writing on it saying, simply, _Yes_. she nodded, thinking as much. After a few moments thought she asked, "What would you have done if he'd completed the... you know...", not able to bring herself to say it out loud yet. When he didn't answer, she looked at the card again, to find his response on the card had changed.

_I would have killed them. Rape is unforgivable, the only thing more so is betrayal. There is no excuse for a traitor to come into existence._

After reading this, she remembered her friend Tracey. The evidence was clear to her; there could be no other explanation. Theodore Nott had _Raped_ Tracey Davis. She deliberated with herself for a moment about what she should do, and came to decision. "Um, I have something to tell you, something you can't tell anyone. Can I have your confidence in this matter?"

When he nodded for her to continue, Daphne told him about Tracey. About how she was during the early summer, about Nott's visit, what she looked like when she'd seen her on the Express earlier that day, and what she believed happened. Unsurprisingly, he displayed no discernable emotion or motion, save to point to the card. _Are you certain?_ At her nod, he pulled out a folded, weathered piece of parchment and began to open it. After appearing to look at it for a moment, he refolded it and put it back in his pocket, once again indicating for her to look at the card once more.

_Nott is in the common room, sitting on a chaise facing the fire. Here is what I want you to do..._

**o0oOo0o**

This chapter was to be longer, but I've wasted too much time with it, and it's almost twice as long as the other two combined as it is. The motivation for writing this part was, sorry to say, lacking, as I'm not a big fan of the subject of the later part of the chapter. As a side note, I think I got Draco down pat, if he were to do something of that nature. None of that swearing Super Douchebag nonsense. Just cold, clinical, and to the point. Also, I apologize before hand if some phrases were repeated more than necessary. My vocabulary, much like my memory, is failing faster and faster it seems. Multiple head injuries tend to take more out of you than you realize initially.

The next chapter will explain what it was that happened to Harry, as well as who his ally will be. It might be obvious at this point though. Also, ten points to the first person who can identify the nod hidden somewhere in the last ten paragraghs or so. Must list story title, book title, and author. Have fun with that. Answer will be posted at end of next chapter.

As a side note, check out The Theif of Hogwarts, by bluminous8. You'll laugh good and loud when the sorting hat gets puked "in".


	4. The Price Part 1

Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

The Price

Hermione Granger was, at the moment, not a happy person. She sat at the long table for the Gryffindors in the Great Hall eating quietly, Ron inhaling large amounts of food in between breaths next to her, Harry still nowhere to be found. When the train had docked at Hogsmeade, she excused herself from Ron and the stranger, and ran out of the car and watched as everyone departed, catching no sign of him. The boy was too distinctive to miss, no matter how big the crowd, and yet he had somehow evaded her. Again. After some thought, she concluded he must have used the invisibility cloak, although the reason he would do something like that was unclear. Figuring that she would be able to find him during the sorting, she finally left.

When the sorting came and went, and Harry was still nowhere to be found, she became worried. She looked at the head table, to see if any of them had noticed that he wasn't present, like he had almost always been. Professors Sprout, Sinistra, and others that had no interest in him outside of his attendance and grades gave no knowledge that they had noticed. Others, most noticeably being Hagrid, McGonagall, and Snape kept giving discreet glances her way, before scanning the other areas of the her house table and then the others. Hagrid and McGonagall wore worried expressions on their faces, while Snape's was of curiosity. Dumbledore, if he knew anything(and she was sure he did), wasn't giving anything away, his poker face well in place.

The strangeness didn't end there however. With the new year came a new DADA Professor, a horrible, toad-faced, little woman, whose whole demeanor could be summed up in three words: Satan in Pink. Hermione could almost swear that the woman's curriculum was probably composed of "This is your wand(_Support the Ministry_). When pointed at people or objects, it can do bad things(_Believe in the Ministry_). Be careful(_Listen to the Minister of Magic_). All non humans are bad(_**Obey **__the ministry_)."

To learn without progressing magically made no sense to her. Without innovation and the evolution of techniques and skills and spells, the magical world will stagnate. Progress for the sake of progress was **bad **her perfect pale arse! Umbridge's plan was a recipe for failure, of that she was certain. Although she dare not admit it aloud(_**Especially **_around Ron and/or Harry... but mostly Ron), her ingrained respect and admiration for authority figures was waning with each passing day. For those curious as to why, simply look at her past four years at Hogwarts and all questions would be quickly answered.

And then there was the matter of Harry's familiar, Hedwig. What struck her as truly odd, and added to her already burgeoning worry, was that Hedwig, normally known to be in the owlery at this time, had been resting next to her on the table, and had been for the last half hour. The raptor didn't appear to be in any harm or stressed at any level, but she couldn't put her finger on it... something was really off about her. She seemed... bored, or depressed. Hermione couldn't really tell. As she pet the owls feathers, a single question popped into her head and would not leave her be, no matter how much sense it made. If Hedwig was here, where was her master?

Hermione sighed to herself, sparing a glance at the gaping, cavernous, landfill-like maw that was Ron Weasley's mouth. Wanting nothing more than to see Harry and ensure that he was alive and well, she decided to corner McGonagall and interrogate the woman as to what she knew about her wayward best friend. She would have to wait for the right moment to do so, however. To go up to the Head Table right now would draw unnecessary attention to her, and might be detrimental to her... uh, investigation of sorts. Hermione decided that she would wait until the Great Hall cleared out some; perhaps as the Deputy Headmistress was leaving for the evening?

As the feast was drawing to a close, and people were getting ready to leave to the comfort of their beds, she rose and made her way to the head table to get what she needed from her favorite instructor. Unfortunately, as damnable always, something had to interrupt her from getting the clues _before _it was already too late to do anything about it. How joyous.

Argus Filch, the caretaker for Hogwarts, pushed and shoved students out of his way, shouting for them to move before he got to them. The look of indescribable terror on his craggy, aged features parting them like Moses before the Red Sea. He hobbled in a rush towards the headmaster, stutter stepping around the table to meet him from behind. The custodian leaned down to his right and whispered into his ear. Whatever it was, it wasn't likely to be pleasant.

Dumbledore's eyes widened almost impossibly huge, while his face bleached almost bone white. No... it probably wasn't at all.

o0oOo0o

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had seen much in his almost one and a half centuries of life. Much was light, ever so much more was pure darkness in all but name.

Wars, both magical and muggle, had raged in earlier days, and some continued to this day in secret. Many lives, _Too_ many if he was ever asked, had been lost; talented wizards and witches slain for no better reason than blood status, or as was the case in the last one, lack thereof. He had then, and still now, hated mankind's propensity for war; the need, the desire for the blood of ones enemies to be spilt, to wade through it, feel it lap at their ankles like waves on a lakes shore, and all too often for the worst of reasons. Pureblood versus Muggleborn. Aryan versus Jew. Christianity versus Islam. No matter what he did, nothing seemed to matter. It seemed the innocent are destined to die at the hands of the corrupt.

He had seen good too. Great Good. Smiles of children, proud parents ecstatic over their children's academic successes, or quiditch wins. Countries once bitter enemies putting aside their differences to take on a great evil. The look in the eyes of soldiers as victory was announced, proclaiming to everyone that all was right with the world once more. Grindelwald was defeated, Hitler dead, Voldemort gone( the first time anyway), Polpot, Ho Chi Minh... the list goes on, but their reigns of terror ended.

His most favored times, the times that most frequently visited the forefront of his conscious mind, were from when he was an instructor, here, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Impressing upon students the proper ways of their birthright and heritage, their right as wizards and witches to practice magic. He saw wonders and feats of magic, some of which were performed by himself, during his tenure as a teacher of Transfiguration. Oh how he wished he could go back to those simpler times, before everything went all so very wrong...

Throughout his time here at Hogwarts, as a student, an instructor, and now the headmaster, he'd bore witness to countless accidents and fights, several of which were life threatening. But, all were healed. All save one. Myrtle Martinell. Fifth Year Ravenclaw. Would have been class of '51, but she met a truly unfortunate end at the hand of Tom Riddle via the basilisk, her ghost still haunting the site of her death even now. After Riddle had disappeared all those years ago, before Voldemort's insurrection and eventual downfall, he swore to himself that he would not allow for another life to be lost as long as he served as headmaster. The oath was tested greatly during Harry's second year, with luck being the major reason the petrified victims survived. A puddle, a camera, a ghost, and a mirror... yes, luck indeed had a role in that.

But it seems his luck had finally run out, as it is wont to do eventually.

For you see, what the old caretaker had to say to him, that chilled his blood so, was almost too greatly abhorrent to be true, to be believed. It simply could not be... but it must be all the same. Dumbledore knew what needed to be done, and it needed to be done immediately. Commanding the old castle to do his bidding, he sealed the doors to the Great Hall, noticing that thankfully few students that were in attendance had left the hall recently. As he had seen the looks of panic on the faces of the students, he settled himself, cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and spoke aloud, so that all students, throughout the school, could hear him.

"Attention students, I have a most dire missive to deliver. It seems that our esteemed caretaker came upon a scene of indescribable carnage, the end result being the remains of what appears to be a dead animal of unknown origin, and three injured students. I must ask that all those out in the halls proceed immediately to their dorms, while I ask those of you still in the great hall to please be patient while this... incident, is thoroughly investigated. It is unclear if there are more of these... creatures, so I must ask that the orders previously given be completed expeditiously. To ensure the safety of all, I will be calling for an auror detachment to investigate the scene for foul play. That is all."

With that, he turned to his right and whispered orders to his Deputy Headmistress to keep watch over the children in the Great Hall, and to keep them calm. At her nod, he then turned to his potions professor and beckoned him forward. "You and I must follow Argus to where this travesty occurred. From what little he was able to discern from the mess in that corridor, I believe that one of the students might be Mr. Malfoy, but the damage done to the survivors was extensive. Argus has told me that Poppy is already there, attempting to stave off what may be the inevitable. Come, we must hurry."

Severus Snape nodded, gesturing for the custodian to lead on. In his mind, he thought, _I'm going to need a drink after this. A hard one. Perhaps a fifth of Ogden's will be necessary._ But before the night was over, he would drink that and more.

o0oOo0o

As they left the Great Hall through a side passage, the doors shut quickly after they collectively passed the threshold. The new DADA Professor, Dolores Umbridge, made to follow, but the doors slammed loudly in her face. Were they inclined and able, they would have seen her sputtering uselessly on the other side of the door, face red with indignation.

As the caretaker limped quickly some ways ahead of them, his footsteps reverberating through the expansive stone halls, he whispered to the Headmaster, "What did he say exactly, Albus? I must know."

At his insistent gaze, Dumbledore's shoulders sagged, and at that moment, he looked every bit his 148 years. He leaned down a little to reply, "His precise words were: 'Headmaster, you must come quickly, there's been a terrible murder. One of the students, a Slytherin, I'm sure of it, has been brutally eviscerated and crushed, rent asunder in all but proper wording, sir. There are also three others, but still alive, though from the damage I saw, I'm not sure they'd want to be. One I can tell may be the Malfoy boy, but only on account of the blond in his hair, but with all the blood it's hard to say for certain, and what might be a Prefects Badge.

"'The other two... they were just as bad as him, but they was too nondescript to identify. I've already sent a note with Mrs. Norris to Ms. Pomfrey to come quick, I assume she will be there before us.'" As they moved as quickly as Filch could lead, Severus noticed a thoughtful look upon his face. When Dumbledore once again looked at his confidante, he voiced his thoughts aloud to him. "What strikes me as peculiar, is that none of the wards gave even a remote warning of what happened. Nothing, Severus, nothing at all. This has me most perplexed, and not a little bit worried."

Professor Snape gave no reply as they continued on. Although his mind was processing the data he just received, the majority of his concern lay with what may or may not be the desecrated shell that was his Godson. The boy had been acting mildly peculiar throughout the summer, sending secret letters to an unknown person all through the holiday period. It was to a girl, of that he was sure, but he sincerely doubted it was Parkinson. He had also been acting, what he termed, "above his station". As if he were the Dark Lord's right hand man. Idiot boy, takes too much after his father.

These thoughts stayed with him as they rounded the final corner and made their way to the dead end corridor, where Madame Pomfrey was indeed already there. The closer they got to the scene of the crime, Argus Filch slowed his pace, ever so slightly. And with good reason.

On the right side of the corridor lay the broken, but alive, bodies of Mafoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, of that Professor Snape was certain. Their limbs were twisted in impossible angles, and although there was blood, there were only minute splatters on the wall behind them, and several small pools beneath them, most of which was blood, already drying and turning black, the rest of which was the end result of overwhelming fear when applied to one's colon and bladder. And, as if to add insult to severe injury, their wands were broken, laying in a pile of sticks in front of them.

Madame Pomfrey was currently attending to them, dealing with the worst of the injuries to ensure that they might live to see tomorrow. So far, it seemed promising. The fourth victim However, was beyond any medical assistance, no matter how skilled.

On the left side of the corridor, the destroyed corpse of what appeared to be a boy was still bleeding from the wide open lacerations that scored his body; from his scalp to the soles of his feet, they formed a disturbing jigsaw puzzle when they connected. There was blood. EVERYWHERE. The floors... walls... It was recent, not even a half hour old, of that the two of them were sure, as the blood had yet to coagulate, it being still red instead of the black it turned to when dried. "Sweet Merlin", Snape said in a hoarse whisper, as if speaking any louder would draw the attention of whatever it was that did this, somehow knowing deep inside that it was a human and not a beast that did this. Only man was capable of such disregard for life to cause such damage to another.

The boy's chest cavity was ripped open, ribs splayed open like mortuary gates, internal organs strewn about haphazardly in a semi circle from the epicenter that was his husk. The cavity that was his torso had a small pool of blood building in the deepest recesses of his body. His groin area had seen the most damage, his genitals crushed into nothing, a great hole existing where they used to be, leaking blood from his torso like a reservoir.

The head of the corpse was tilted at an upward angle, eyes wide, pupils still dilated, staring into nothing, the skin of his face laying some three feet to his left. The jaw had been broken in several places, giving the impression that the bone of his lower jaw were made of dough. The flesh that made up his cheeks was slashed through to the joint of the lower mandible straight through to the skull, allowing for his chin to rest scant inches from his spinal column on the inside, an action that would have been impossible under normal means, for obvious reasons. His tongue lolled from the left side of his face, the deep lacerations separating his jaws making his tongue seem longer, now that more of it was displayed. The carnage of what had been done to him was... indescribable. There were simply no words nor any possible reason for what was done to this poor boy... at least not before one looked higher on the wall behind him.

At the junction, where the wall met the ceiling, in plain, simple script, written in what was most likely the blood of the victim below it, was this:

_**"I will Nott suffer a rapist to live, not now, not ever."**_

o0oOo0o

Back in the Great Hall Hermione was contemplating either going up to Professor McGonagall, or waiting for a more opportune time. The chaos that was reigning free at the moment was not making it any easier on her, what with the loud shouting going on as speculation as to who the three students identities were. That one of them might be Harry made her almost frantic with concern. People were fast becoming unraveled as well, as worry began to anchor itself to the surface of everyone's mind. Friends and family members were out there, possibly dying or disfigured, all the while none of them would know anything beyond the four walls around them.

Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Under-Secretary to the Minister of Magic, Hem-Hemed her fat, toad faced arse to no effect. When she used the Sonorus to garner the attention of the trapped student body, it resulted in a wave of spell work sent her way. "Well! I never-", and she never got any further either, as she fell flat on her face, caught unawares from behind with a stunner. "You have now, lady!", a voice said from one of the gathered crowds. It was met with cheers from the student body as a whole.

Professor McGonagall, albeit a witness to this trampling of school authority, but seeing as how she hated what the woman stood for, and detested that woman herself with a passion, and simply disregarded that anything happened out of the ordinary. She soon took charge and had the mobs, who were raising their pitchforks and lighting their torches, quelled before they became problematic. Well, it worked initially, but after the first twenty minutes it was getting harder to control them without the use of force, even with the rest of the faculty aiding her. With tensions high with worry, and as fists were about to fly, the pressure in the room dropped dramatically when a serving tray flew across the Hall and slammed into the wall.

"Shut up, _Shut up, _**Shut up, **_**SHUT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL UP!!!**_" And, lo and behold, they did. While it was no surprise that a Gryffindor was the one to try something so drastic, it was an eye opener that it came not from Ginny Weasley, whose fist was raised with the intent to lay her brother down, but Hermione Granger. She stood atop one of her house table's benches, face red with fury, chest rapidly expanding and contracting with the effort of yelling. The crowd stood dumbfounded, jaws dropped, and eyes wide. Hurricane Hermione was pounding the shores, and was unrelenting.

"I want everyone to calm down, sit down, and: _**shut. up.**_" To her surprise, as well as that of the faculty, and even their own, they complied. "Now, I know that you all are worried about your friends and such... but at the moment there is nothing we can do. I know you all feel powerless... believe me when I say that you're not alone, because so do I. But there is **nothing. we. can. do.** So please, just wait until the Headmaster returns, or, with the Deputy Headmistress' permission, the Prefects can collect the names of those in their house, give them to her, and lead them to their respective dorms. Professor?"

Minerva McGonagall shook herself from her shock, and gave a nod. "Yes, that would be a most excellent idea Ms. Granger. If all the Prefects present would please take down the names of their house members that are here in the Great Hall; after we verify the lists, the Heads of House will lead their students to their respective dormitories. In the place of Professor Snape of Slytherin House, we will use... professor Sinistra. Quickly Now! The faster we get the names, and verify them, the faster we can get you to a comfortable bed to rest and verify the safety of your friends."

As the Prefects were gathering parchment and having their housemates line up single file, Hermione went up to Ron and asked him to get the names. He had other ideas. "Why me? Why not you or the other two?"

"One, we're fifth years, they're sixth years, and one of them isn't here anyway. Two, Unlike you I have to speak to our head of house about something important. Three, make it legible Ron; if I can't read it, I'll make you write it again. Four, if you weasel your way out of this, I will push you down the stairs when you're not looking. We clear?"

Ron Weasley was not now, nor will he probably every be, a tactful man. But even he saw how frayed around the edges she was, and knew on some survival induced, instinctual level that, if he was to fight her on this, it would be very painful down the road. Literally. So, with a squeak, he gave her his whispered response, "_Crystal_."

She stared into his eyes, as if daring him to defy her. Seeing nothing but obedience, she gave a brisk nod, turned around, and headed toward McGonagall, while Ron picked up some parchment and a quill and quickly began taking down names. A moment later he was joined by Alicia Spinnet, who was forming a line from his, cutting it in half. When he gave her a curious look, she looked him in the eyes and said, "Life is short enough as it is Ronnikins, the last thing I need is her on my arse for something as small as this", to which he nodded in agreement.

As they were taking the names of the other Gryffindors, Alicia leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Would she really?"

"Really What?"

"You know... _push you down the stairs_."

He froze midway through Romilda Vane's name as he honestly contemplated it, his posture stock still. When he turned his eyes on her, they were wide and fearful. "Would you really want to find out?" At her rapid head shake, he said, "Me either."

o0oOo0o

Back in the corridor, things were not going so smoothly. Madame Pomfrey had just finished stabilizing the three Slytherin boys, their identities confirmed when their wands were found in the pockets of their robes. The Headmaster had left temporarily and returned with the auror team of Shacklebolt and Tonks, as well as a team of mediwitches from St. Mungo's. The medics placed them on floating cots and drew them from the area with the intent to take them to the intensive care ward at St. Mungo's, via the fireplace in the medical ward of Hogwarts. After Filch was questioned as to what he'd seen, he escorted the mediwitches to their destination. Now that survivors were safely on their way to the hospital, all that was left was to find out who the fourth victim's identity was.

"...I Believe it to be Theodore Nott Jr. sir", Professor Snape said, still staring at the message on the wall. "I am most sure of it."

"Came to that conclusion as well, old friend?", Dumbledore had said, a small, sad smile graced his tired features. His shoulders were sagging, and he was leaning heavily against the wall with his left hand, the brutality of the murder taking it's toll on him as well, much to the surprise of the others present.

"How can you tell?!", Madame Pomfrey had said, her voice betraying that she was on the verge of hysterics, "I mean, the poor child doesn't even have a face! His wand is a burnt pile of ash... _so much blood_..."

The Headmaster laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder, startling her out of her horrifying reverie, and looking her in the eye, said, "Calm yourself Poppy. I regret that you must see this, but it is imperative that you not lose your composure. It is truly terrible yes, but we must focus on finding the killer, or killers. This may not be the last we have seen of this display, and I will need you calm, and collected should it happen again.

"Now, to answer your question, we believe it to be Nott due to the wording of the message above him. It says 'I will Nott', with two T's. Seeing as how everything else was spelled correctly, it is a safe assumption that a simple word like 'not' would not be misspelled by mistake, proving that it was intentional. Also, the robes of the victim clearly displays the Slytherin Coat of Arms, which due to the damage of the robe, and the lack of magical residue to the robes themselves, it can safely be concluded that they were not tampered with, and that the emblem shown is the real one. Now that we know the identity of the victim in question, it will make it easier to find out if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?", Shacklebolt asked, his deep resonating voice carrying inflections of alarm, "I think you might want to see this."

At this, a puzzled look scrunched his features, and, taking his leave of the mediwitch, walked over to the aurors. When he walked the few steps to them, he saw the senior auror holding two wands, while Tonks was performing the wand movements for a Prior Incantato to check the remaining wand for recent spells used. The results were disturbing.

The wand displayed a wispy smoke of over thirty spells, all of them either cutting curses or shields. _That explains some of what happened to the body_, he thought to himself, _but does not give a reason or motive to perform such a crime, nor the rest of the damage inflicted upon Nott_. "And the other two?", he asked, looking at Kingsley.

"The same sir, nothing but cutters or shields", he said with a sigh. After a moments thought he said, "The three boys, I don't think they did it. The evidence doesn't add up."

"Oh? How did you come to that conclusion?"

"It's Obvious, Headmaster", Snape said, still looking at the message on the wall. After a moment more, he turned to face the three and said, "May I propose my hypothesis, Senior Auror Shacklebolt?" At his nod he proceeded, "It's in the blood gentlemen... and lady. My apologies Auror Tonks, no disrespect was intended. As I was saying, the blood. The blood stains for Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy were older, darker, and all but completely dried when we had arrived, while that of Nott was, and still is, very wet, pooling in the cavities and recesses of his torso, and just barely cooling. This means that the trio was already beaten and unconscious before the Nott died. It proves their innocence, as will a dose of veritaserum if needed. I will be the first to admit that their character leaves much to be desired, but I sincerely doubt they are murderers, especially to one of their own. No matter how their views differed, if they differed at all, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle did not kill Nott Jr.."

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his head, saying, "I agree Professor, and although their wands tell a different tale, I believe it to be more a bard's yarn than factual data. But I must say, I noticed that you said that they did not kill him, but not that they were incapable of doing so. Why?"

"He is human, Senior Auror, just like you and I", Snape said. He looked down where Nott's burnt wand lay, a sneer directed at nothing and no one in particular cut across his face. "Given the proper situation or reason, or in some cases no reasons at all, we are all capable of killing."

o0oOo0o

Hermione stared at her transfiguration instructor with a look of disbelief plastered on her face. "_What do you mean you don't know where Harry is?!_",her voice barely above a harsh whisper, but she might as well have screamed it at her teacher with the way it was affecting her.

"First the Headmaster tells me that I can't contact him for reasons pertaining to his safety. I can somewhat agree with that. Besides, my concern for his safety was the only reason I followed along anyway. Then, for reasons unknown to any of us at headquarters, and Dumbledore helps _not at all_ by not telling us squat about why, he decides to stay at the Dursley's for the remainder of the summer. That's just baffling. I begged Dumbledore to allow one of us to check on him, but he never wrote me back. I can only assume he read the letter, and after finishing, used it to fuel the fire in his office.

_"And then_, I wait for him on the damn Hogwarts Express, only to get attacked by Goddamn Malfoy and saved by some 5th year Gryffindor boy I didn't know, whom I still don't know the identity of even after I've listed them all, and when the damn train drops us off at Hogsmeade, I didn't see him leave the train. And now, _Now_ you tell me you don't know where the hell he is?!"

The girl was all but on the verge of having a stress induced cardiac arrest, or exploding in rage, at this point, her face was red with exertion, eyes beginning to tear up, and body shivering with stress and worry. She needed Harry safe and sound in front of her or she was going to do some disturbingly unpleasant things to her fellow Hogwarts students, things better left unsaid. In absolute layman's terms: Hermione Granger was a short, flaming cunt hair away from exploding and killing everyone in the Great Hall, and she'd do it too if she didn't find Harry soon.

"_Ms. Granger_! Calm yourself this instant! You're causing a scene!", McGonagall whispered to one of her two favorite students, this one on the verge of a nervous breakdown. While she watched Hermione forcibly calm herself down, Minerva did much the same thing, the girl had raised her blood pressure substantially. When they both were relaxed enough to carry a conversation, she continued. "Now, I said that _**I**_ didn't know where he was, nor whether or not he here in the castle. But the Headmaster informed me earlier that he felt Mr. Potter enter the wards about 45 minutes after the last carriage arrived at the front gates.

"Although the Headmaster was unable discern where he entered the school from, nor was he able to locate him afterward, he is _absolutely certain_ that he is in the castle. He may already be in his dorm, relaxing. Albus has told me that he was working on some sort of project while living with those horrible muggle relatives of his. He may just be tired and taking a small kip to rest himself. I'm sure there is nothing to worry about dear, so _Please_ remain calm. There are first years still present."

She blushed slightly at the admonition, her face lowered in shame. "Sorry Professor, I don't know what came over me."

McGonagall patted her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, a knowing smile gracing her face, making her appear younger than she was. "Don't be sorry. Just... try to maintain some semblance of control next time, hmm? Concern for a loved one makes us do crazy things. I'm sure Harry is fine. He always is."

Hermione nodded and made her way back to Ron, noticing Alicia sitting next to him, the last lion walking away from them as the task was completed. "All done then?", she asked shyly, fully aware of how she acted earlier was rude and shouldn't have been done now that she was thinking a little clearer.

He collected the parchment from Alicia before turning to her with the combined full list in his outstretched hand, the other rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Yeah, Fear for one's life is an outstanding motivator."

She looked abashed, her face turning a deep pink as she blushed for the second time in so many minutes. "Oh Ron, I-I'm so sorry, I-"

"Not a problem. I know you're worried about him, and I'm a little worried me self. Something ain't-

"Isn't, Ronald."

"_Isn't_ right about all of this. I just can't think of what it might be."

"Me either", she said dejectedly before taking the list. "I'm going to get this to Professor McGonagall... see if we can't get back to the common room and see if Harry beat us there, yeah? Maybe we can pump his for answers as to why he hasn't talked to us all summer."

"Right."

With a smile now on her face, she headed back to the Deputy Headmistress with the list. After she called out the names on the list, verifying that all students were accounted for, she turned to Hermione. "Ms. Granger, your house members has been accounted for. I've sent a house elf to the Headmaster, and he has given permission to let the students be escorted to their common rooms. I am sorry to say that I must remain here until all the students have been safely returned to their dorms", at this Hermione was about to protest when she raised her hand to quiet her, continuing with, "that does not mean you will be the last to leave. Professor Vector has volunteered to escort the Gryffindor students. You may leave now, but be careful. We don't know what is in this castle with us, nor whether or not it is malevolent. Take caution my dear."

"Thank you professor, and we will." As soon as the students were collected in a group, they left the Great Hall through the giant double doors, Septima Vector, her wand out, lead them through the castle to the Gryffindor tower. The walk to the dorms was quiet and thankfully uneventful. When the password was said and the Fat Lady opened her door, too slowly for Hermione's tastes, she all but flew through the portal and ran to Harry's dorm room. Here she received the last shock her mind could take before she collapsed, unconscious.

Neither Harry nor his belongings were there.

o0oOo0o

Professor Snape was finally able to leave the scene after another three hours of senseless speculation about how it happened within the halls of Hogwarts with out anyone knowing. He sat on an easy chair in his private quarters, a bottle of Ogden's in one hand, a crystal tumbler in the other filled almost to the brim with the amber liquid. He took three deep gulps from the glass, emptying it quickly, wincing from the pleasant burn of the drink. After he'd relaxed somewhat, he poured himself another glass, though not quite as much. Thinking over the events of evening, he sighed to himself.

At the moment no one beyond those that were present for the investigation knew anything about what happened, or even that it happened. After a talk with the school's governors, it was unanimously decided that this information will not be open to the press. The school had enough bad press as it was, what with the tragedies of last year still fresh on the minds of the wizarding public. Though now Dumbledore was on obscenely thin ice at the moment.

Since there were no paintings in that corridor, there were no witnesses to the event. The paintings just before the corridor saw several people enter and leave the corridor, but were unable, for some unknown reason, to identify them. At the moment there was talk of brining in Croaker or Bode to discern if dark or unknown magics were used in the murder. Severus was relatively certain that this would happen.

He took another great gulp of firewhiskey. He was tired of all this nonsense, and wanted to be done with it all. The second rise of the dark lord, the efforts to end his regime permanently... all of it. He was getting too old for this, he wasn't a young man anymore. He just wanted it to be over already. As if somehow hearing him, the fates seemed to grant his wish, albeit unknowingly. A strange wind began to blow, ruffling his robes some, but it escaped his attention, his mind on other matters. The voice that followed didn't.

_Hello Professor Snape._

**o0oOo0o**

I know that I said this is the chapter to explain it all, but my mind seemed to disagree, wanting to give a go at fleshing out the characters a bit instead. Hope it worked. The next chapter, without a doubt, will be what the these last two chapters were supposed to be. In truth, the previous chapter, this one, and the next were all supposed to be one chapter. You can probably see why I decided to cut them into pieces. I find it strange that the chapters seem to be getting longer, as either I'm sucking at this, or it's flowing that well.

This was supposed to be about ten chapters long. With the way things are going, it might be longer. Still, if the reviews are anything, I guess it's a decent read.


	5. The Price Part 2

Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

The Price Part II

Snape dropped his glass of firewhiskey and the bottle of the self same fluid; the glass tumbler landing flat on its base, sloshing the liquid some but somehow keeping most of the spirit in the glass, while the bottle landed on the thick carpet with a dull thud on its side, spilling precious whiskey until the liquid was level with the lip. Quick as a flash, he rose, his wand out, silently casting detections charms and revealing spells, but came up with nothing.

"Who goes there?"

Silence was the answer. His heart rate elevated as his senses heightened almost painfully. Eyes darting the room nervously, he made his way as carefully as he could to the door, not knowing how many, if any, assailants were present. When he reached the door, he was shocked beyond belief. As soon as he touched the handle, the door disappeared, in it's place was a wall of stone. As it was the only exit of any kind in the room, it having no windows, escape was now out of the question.

Although it was not visible on his well schooled features, fear was coursing through the whole of his body. At the moment he had no idea as to what was going on, and was completely out of his depth. He returned to the center of the room and began to slowly spin in place trying to find something out of place, the tell-tale glimmer of a disillusion charm... Anything.

_Put your wand away professor. It won't be necessary for the near future._

The voice was flat, emotionless, and one he didn't recognize. It didn't seem to come from any one direction at all. Were he muggleborn, or had any knowledge of muggle electronics, he would have thought it similar to listening to music in a room equipped with surround sound. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat.

"Where are you, and who are you? Show yourself!"

_Put the wand away. If I was going to kill or harm you, I would have done so; many times by now. You can't even feel me, let alone see me._

Severus frowned slightly. As the person talked he strained his hearing trying to discern what direction it came from, but it was all but impossible. It was like the air manipulated itself to generate the sound. "You'll forgive me for not trusting in your benevolence, as I neither know who you are, nor your intentions."

_On the contrary Professor, you've known me, or of me, my whole life... and hated me since the day I was born._

His eyes widened in sudden realization, as there was only one person who could honestly claim such a thing, before they narrowed in barely kept rage.

"Potter! I should have known, your arrogance is truly something to behold. Show yourself boy!", he roared, all the while trying to sense where he could be. In an attempt to goad Potter into making a mistake, he tried taunting him. "Or are you too much of a coward to confront me, face to face, like men? I know you're in here boy. Cease this childishness immediately and return to your dorm. I will be deducting 100 House Points for this disgusting display of disrespect."

_I've been in plain sight since you sat down Professor. Do not blame me for your failure to pay attention to detail. Tell me sir, where is the last direction someone generally thinks to look?_

Snape froze in fear, the room silent, save for the thundering of his heart and the rapid shallowing of his breath. _It can't be_, he thought, abject terror flooding his veins with adrenaline, _it simply cannot be!_ He craned his neck slowly upward, hoping that he was wrong, but knowing that he wasn't, and looked at the ceiling. There, directly above him, as ink black as a shadow, was the silhouette of what could be believed to be a young man, somehow clinging to the ceiling upside down, his head, looking right at him, no more than five feet away from his own. His jaw dropped as, his lips trembling, his vocal chords produced useless syllables of noise in an attempt to make a coherent sentence.

_Hello Professor._

o0oOo0o

When Hermione woke, she realized that she wasn't on her bed, or in her dorm for that matter. Although she'd been interred here only once before, now twice, she'd visit the place often enough. Usually for Harry. Looking around the Hospital Wing, she realized it looked like it smelled: antiseptic and uninviting. The medical area of Hogwarts didn't look comfortable for obvious reasons, most of them had something to do with wanting to get the student out of there just that much faster and back to learning. Also probably because of Harry.

"You gave us a right scare there Ms. Granger", Madam Pomfrey said in a voice slightly above a whisper, softly drawing the girl from her musings. "Are you okay? Mr. Weasley came to us screaming that you had died in the boys dormitories. I am thankful that he was simply exaggerating. Now that you are awake, would you be so kind as to tell me what happened?"

Hermione looked apprehensive. How does one go about telling somebody that you fainted due to stress acquired from not being able to locate your friend, and the subsequent separation anxiety afterward? With a miserable sigh, she opened her mouth to reply, when she was interrupted.

"I too would also like to know the answer to that myself, Ms. Granger." Hermione startled greatly, almost jumping off the bed. She turned to the opposite side of the bed that the skilled mediwitch was on, and looked up to the tired face of the headmaster. The old wizard appeared haggard, his beard unkempt, robes stained with some reddish brown substance around the hem, his face showing obvious signs of fatigue. Dumbledore looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Professor", she inquired, alarmed at how tired he looked, "Are you ok? Has something happened?" Her eyes opened in surprised alarm. _Harry!_ "Harry! Where is he? Is he ok? Have you seen him! _Please! ...please tell me..."_

She looked as though she were about to break down and weep. The loss of her best friend was tearing her apart inside, and with no explanation as to where he is or why he left, it was pushing her mind to the brink of madness. All she wanted was to know that Harry was alright, that he was safe. She wanted to see his face again. It was killing her not knowing.

"Shh", the aging headmaster soothed, patting her hand in a comforting manner before continuing. "I regret to inform you that the location of Mr. Potter is, at the moment, unknown. Right now, I'm afraid to say, that is not exactly a priority. Right now", he said licking his dry lips, "right now we have more pressing concerns."

The young witch wore a look of disbelief that quickly evolved to enragement. "Wha- how can you say that! What could poss-"

"A student was murdered, Ms. Granger, here in Hogwarts", he said, interrupting her tirade before it could gain any real steam.

Her lips opened and closed like a fish trying to breath on land. Her astonishment at that statement was plain for all to see. As she tried to wrap her mind around what he had just said, the aged professor continued.

"Mr. Nott, of Slytherin house, was killed four hours ago in a dead-end corridor near the entrance to their common room in the dungeons. His remains, as well as the unconscious forms of Mssr.'s Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were also found, brutally beaten near the victim. Mr. Nott's body was..." Dumbledore searched for the right words to describe the carnage of what happened to the poor boy's body without being too descriptive, but could find none. "Let us just say, what was done to him was most unpleasant, and leave it at that. I can not go into greater detail at the moment, for obvious reasons, nor would I want to."

Hermione managed to get her bearing and said, "Why? Do you know why someone would do such a thing?" She thought for a moment before continuing. "I mean, I didn't know him personally, but he didn't seem too bad to me. He never said anything to me in any fashion, either good or bad..."

"At the moment, we have no suspects, nor motive. The aurors have already searched through the area of the crime, and have nothing. There was no ambient magic in the air, no spell signatures, or potions that could be readily identified in the vicinity. There weren't any magical residues anywhere on the body of the victim either. Outside of the victim's..._ remains_, the area of the incident was clean. We have nothing."

Hermione paled, the fear on her face was broadcasting how terrified she was. And she was. To be able to kill someone without leaving any real trace is unheard of. There is always at least some prescence of magic in the air. Always. Her hands were numb and at the same time shaking, while tears were welling in her eyes. "Is there a possibility that another would be targeted?", she asked in squeaky whisper.

The old wizard took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "We do not know. For all we know it may be solitary incident... or the harbinger of something worse to come. We simply do not have enough information to make a proper conclusion, no matter how plausible many of them may have seemed."

Her mind raced with the facts and details he'd given her. A boy, one that she barely knew, had just been killed. From what the headmaster had said, or rather how he said it, it had not been a pleasant scene for one to bear witness to. He hadn't said anything about actual witnesses to the crime, so it was a safe assumption that there were none. Well, no, that wasn't true. He had said that Goyle, Crabbe and Malfoy were found unconscious near Nott's body, and they were "brutally beaten" as the headmaster had said. Although it might lessen the possibility that they were suspects, it did not remove them from the list completely.

"Is it possible that Draco and the other two might have, you know..."

"Killed Mr Nott?", he asked with a fatigued whisper. Dumbledore pulled his wand out and conjured a chair for himself and sat down upon it heavily, slumped forward slightly, chin almost touching his chest. After a few moments of staring at his hands, and without looking up, he replied. "It is a possibility, but not likely. The wands of the three boys showed off some rather dangerous spells, but none of them matched with the damage seen upon the victims body, while Mr. Nott's own wand was.

"According to the readings from the Priori Incantato spell, the spells were recent, as in the last hour at the time, but upon inspecting the owners, it was proven that they were not the one to cast those spells. It was also observed that they were suffering great magical exhaustion, almost to the point of being squibs. The spells on their wands, both the type and quantity, could not have exhausted them so."

"What are you saying professor? That they didn't have a hand in his murder?"

"I believe the boys were framed. But that is not all."

"What? What else is there? What else could there possibly be?"

Looking up for the first time in the last few minutes, and staring her in the eyes, he said, "They were all but empty, Ms. Granger. No magical person, no matter what the situation, could empty themselves of their magical core in such a fashion, as they would have been knocked out before it could get anywhere close to that level. I believe they were drained. They were drained of their magic, left with only enough to survive, and nothing more."

Hermione thought to herself for a moment, trying to put the facts of what the Headmaster had just told her into some sort of order. "So... lets think about this logically. Nott was killed in a fashion too gruesome for you to elaborate on, correct?" At his nod she continued. "Near him were the unconscious forms of Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy, brutally beaten. Their wands show spells that were incongruous with the damage to Nott. Also, their magical cores were depleted to almost nothing, something that performing those particular spells should not have been able to do..."

She stopped talking to think it over for a bit. After a few seconds of deep pondering, she felt a headache coming on. None of it connected together or made any sort of sense at all, and she said so.

Dumbledore smiled sadly and heaved a sigh. "Welcome to my world Ms. Granger."

"If those three didn't do it, then who did sir?"

He looked up at her and she could see how this was making him appear as though he were ageing a year a minute. He looked so _old_ then. "That, my dear, is the million galleon question." He mustered up some control and brought his features into a semblance of serenity. A soft, grandfatherly smile spread across his lips. "Enough about questions that are better left for a rested mind. Please, enlighten me as to why you are under the care of Madam Pomfrey's skilled hands, and on the first day no less. Not even Mr. Potter has been able to claim that one yet."

With a blush she began to tell him what had happened; from Kings Cross, to the incident on the Express, the Main Hall, and finally what she didn't find in the boys dorm. All the while, the both of them were thinking about a certain student, whose wareabouts were unknown.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at Hermione as her story came to a close. Although he was curious as to how much affection she had for Harry, he felt it was none of his business, and let the matter fall away. As he was about to chide her for her lack of concern for her own wellbeing, he felt one of the many devices in his office trip off an alarm in the form of a ringing of his ears, that was slowly increasing in volume... It was the one pertaining to the wards that surround No. 4 Privet Dr. It was further proven when Fawkes flamed into being at the foot of Hermione's bed and began screeching in alarm.

"A truly interesting tale Ms. Granger", he began as he rose to his feet and moved behind his familiar, "one that we will have to speak about again concerning your own health and wellbeing. I must ask that you forgive me for being rude, but a matter of some of great importance has just been brought to my attention, and I find that it requires immediate action on my part. It seems that Harry's summer home is not nearly as secure as I would have previously thought."

"Is everything alright?"

"I do not yet know. I would sincerely advise that you not worry yourself needlessly. I have said already that Harry is here in Hogwarts, It's only a matter of where in this castle he is. The matter of his former residence is not, at the moment, a truly pressing concern, but I find that I must investigate it in order to be on the safer side of things. Good night, Ms. Granger, and do take better care of yourself; if not for your own peace of mind, then for Harry's. Forgive me again for my abruptness, but I must take my leave."

And with that, he grasped the Phoenix's tail feathers, and disappeared in a flash of fire.

o0oOo0o

Reacting solely on instinct, Professor Snape leapt backwards a few feet, wand drawn, curses all too ready to leave it's tip at a few spoken words. The charm, rune chain, or other magical device that was keeping the boy suspended released him. The dark-clad form that was Harry Potter spun vertically, landing noiselessly on the ground, still facing his potions professor.

As soon as both of Harry's feet were on the ground, Snape reacted on instinct and let loose a cutting curse at him, catching the boy mid sternum down to his left hip, cutting a vent into the jacket, allowing one to see what was inside for the first time by anothers eyes. Two things immediately shocked him into inaction, the first being that if the cutter had inflicted any damage or pain to his body he hid it well. Not only did he not flinch, the all too common spray of blood was absent as well.

The second was considerably more grim. the hole in the jacket showed what seemed to be black skin, with tiny glimmers of bright blue light, a light that was somehow not showing through the garment. He stood there, too shocked to move. The spell had been unintentional; having been caught off guard and by surprise, it was the only instinctual action he thought to perform.

_Lower your wand, Professor. There is no need for violence. I have come to talk, not be a recipient of abuse._

Snape's arm remained raised with his wand tip pointed towards Harry's chest; the adrenaline spiking his blood adding an unwanted quiver to his normally steady aim. After a few moments, he recovered himself enough to lower his arm, and place his wand into a holster mounted on his wrist. Never turning his back to the entity that claimed to be Harry Potter, he cautiously stepped backwards to his couch and sat heavily. Looking down and noticing his still surprisingly mostly full whiskey glass, he picked it up and took a sip, his eyes once again returning to the black lenses of the other man's face. He stared at him with not a little bit of fear in his eyes.

"Potter?", he whispered harshly, the harshness of the whiskey leaving him slightly breathless. The name of his most irritating rival no longer holding the depthless hatred it once did.

_Yes?_

His mind still trying to comprehend what was going on, he asked the only question that could rise through the fog of his mind.

"How are you talking like that, as if your voice was everywhere?"

_That is irrelevent. We have other matters to discuss. You must take heed of what I am about to tell you, it is of the utmost importance._

"Oh?" he replied, his mask of indifference once more in place but his body still on edge, "and I suppose you've got some mindless drivel to impart upon me, such as how miserably you intend to fail my class this year? Or perhaps how sad and lonely your summer has been? Maybe if you weren't such an insufferable little-"

_I'm dying, Professor, and I don't have a lot of time._

The elder wizard froze in shock. This was definitely not what he had expected. Although he had, at times, wished the demise of his most hated enemy's spawn, he had never done so with any real vehemence and sincerity. Honestly, he just wished to be rid of the boy's presence. Now that "the dream" seemed to become a reality, he found his level of self loathing rising exponentially at what was a most hollow victory indeed.

"How much time do you have precisely?", he asked. He could think of nothing else to ask; to be truthful how does one respond to such a statement? Other questions did come to mind, but this one seemed to take precedence over all the others.

_I do not know. My current affliction isn't well documented. I could die in the next few days, or weeks. The amount of time varied between the seventy-one others that suffered before me, and I have no reason to doubt that it will hold true for myself as well. From what I can divulge from my predecessors, our time isn't set by any known means. It appears to be random._

"Well, what exactly do you know, Mr. Potter?", he inquired. Snape was beginning to think this to be some elaborate prank at his expense. The boy's response made him want to just tell him to bugger off; he had enough on his plate with Nott's all too gruesome demise to deal with some childish joke.

"At the moment you aren't making a lot of sense. Please start from the beginning of your mindless tale, then we could retire. This night has been long enough without your meaningless prattle making it longer. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why your attire is all encompassing?"

Harry gave a nod and brought his hands up to his head and removed the watchcap from his head. Beneath it was his short unruly mop, signifying the obvious fact that he was a Potter._ Already this is turning out badly, _Snape thought to himself as a frown cut across his lips. Any reminder of his fallen nemesis was a bad one. Harry followed with his black glasses, which he gave to his former potions professor, who marveled at how anyone could see through them; not even Moody's magical eye could penetrate it he'd bet. When he looked up, he noticed that Harry's eyes were closed as the boy brought his left hand to the zipper of the jacket.

"Mr. Potter", he stated disdainfully as Harry pulled the tab down across himself, "is there a reason why your eyes are...are..._Oh...My!_"

The older man's lips were moving but no words were coming out; the physical condition of the boy in front of him simply struck him speechless. His shock was well merited; as Harry shrugged the garment off his shoulders, Snape was subjected to the crime against nature that lay beneath the jacket. It was something so horrifying, so mind-numbingly terrible, something so _wrong_, that it took his breath away, and shut his mind down.

For you see, under that single layer of cloth, was coal black skin, pulled tightly over an emaciated torso, that was as dull and lifeless as a shadow. From the bridge of his nose to his uncovered waist, it was like looking into an unlit cave at night, his skin seemed to absorb the light for it did not appear to reflect it. His stomach, or rather where his stomach would have been, was non-existent; Snape could literally see his spine from the front. Harry's skin was pulled so tight against his bones, showing off every ridge, angle, and edge that his bones made, that it displayed the obvious absence of any internal organs, whatsoever.

This though, was not the most terrifying part. the darkness that was his flesh was only broken with what appeared to be glowing blue shards of glass dispersed all over his torso, that pulsed rhythmically, the greatest concentration being where his heart should have been. As the boy pulled off his gloves, he saw that his hands were as skeletal as the rest of him, and also covered with the glowing blue glass-like protrusions that were all over his chest, arms, and back.

_As you can see, Professor,_ Harry said as he spread his arms wide and parallel to the ground, _My appearance leaves much to be desired._

And then, when Snape thought that it could get no worse, he was sadly proven wrong. Harry opened his eyes, staring into the Potion Professor's own. And then Snape did the only thing his terror filled mind could think to do.

He screamed.

**o0oOo0o**

It's been awhile. I've been holding onto this for quite a while, and although it doesn't feel finished to me, it's been too damn long anyways. No excuses. No guarantees when I'll get the next one up, but it should be sometime in the coming months.


End file.
